And the tide rushes in
by Delwyn
Summary: After the Apocalypse, Dean has given up hunting. But was his live ever really safe? Evil might be closer to home than he ever knew...On the run and cut of from everyone, the brothers have only one concern. Running faster than the shadows chasing them.
1. and washes my castles away

Hey everyone! This story is a little… odd for me. I never thought I'd write anything like this. But this just wouldn't let me go. I couldn't write anything anymore, I dreamt about it, I was even reciting bits of dialogue out loud in my car. So I just gave in and started writing the bloody thing.

A multi-chapter future AU… really nervous about this one.

The title is from a song by The Moody Blues. I don't own anything from Supernatural or the song.

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…_and washes my castles away..._

Dean Wilkins sat back in his chair and stared at the phone in his hand. After two years, he was nearly starting to think of himself as Wilkins. Fake name, real job, real house, real woman.

Man, she was _real._

Her name was Jenny. She was nothing like the girls he used to hook up with in his old life. She wasn't the kind of girl you would find in a bar, looking for a hookup. She was a lot of fun. Smart. Not someone for a one night stand. In his new life, she was perfect.

After Lucifer was safely back in his cage where he belonged, Dean had decided to call it a day. He had hunted enough in his life. And although he felt guilty he couldn't be honest with Jen, he never regretted stepping out.

Sam was a different story.

Sam would never quit hunting. Ever. He carried so much guilt on his shoulders. He always felt like he had so much to make up for. And nothing could convince him otherwise. He was a hunter and he would be until the day he died.  
Dean smiled faintly. If someone had told him seven years ago that this was going to happen…

But they had both changed so much over the years. So much had happened. For Dean, it had ruined his taste for the hunt. For Sam, it had ruined his taste for a normal life. His taste for life period.

He looked at the phone in his hands again. The first few months, Sam had called him every few days. They talked about hunts, mainly. Dean had helped him out with the research sometimes. Hunting from the comfort of his home. But when Jen moved in with him, he couldn't do that anymore. Sam had been disappointed, though he had tried very hard to sound happy for his brother. Dean had heard it anyway and not for the first time he wished things were different.

They still talked once a week. The conversations grew shorter as the awkward pauses grew longer. Besides hunting, they really didn't have a lot to talk about. Still, Sam called him faithfully every Friday evening.

Until six months ago. Sam had left a message on his voicemail in the middle of the night. He said that he was going underground for a while and that he wouldn't be able to call. When Dean tried to call him back, the number had been disconnected. The first text message came three weeks later.

_'Hey Dean. I'm still alive. Ran into a bit of trouble. It'll be a while before I can call you again. If you need me, call Bobby. Take care.'_

Dean read the message until he knew it by heart and pretended he wasn't worried. The next message came on Friday, the usual time. It was from a different number than the last one.

_'Hey Dean, still doing fine. Don't worry about me.'_

After that they came once a week. Every Friday nine o'clock, give or take a few minutes. And from a different number every time. Sam had called him once when he needed an address real quick. Dean had looked it up for him and Sam had hung up before he could ask anything. A text message followed a few hours later.

_'Hunt successful, thanks for the info. Saved my ass! Talk to you soon.'_

Dean had decided there and then that 'soon' was the equivalent of 'now' and he had called back immediately. But the number was already dead.

After that the usual pattern resumed. A brief message, every Friday. But the last few weeks they had grown longer, like Sam needed someone to talk to. The last one said 'I miss you'. He'd received it on November second. That was nine days ago now. Friday nine o'clock had come and gone without a word from his brother. Time to raise the alarm. He raised his phone and dialed Bobby's number.

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I'm not a native speaker of English, so feedback on my language is always welcome!


	2. then I am really not so sure

Still using The Moody Blues for the titles. I probably will for the entire story. Still don't own anything...

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…_t__hen I'm really not so sure..._

"Hey Bobby."

"Dean!"

Dean could hear the surprise in his voice. They didn't really talk a lot these days. Dean lived on the other side of the country, so visits were scarce. And Bobby just wasn't the chatty type on the phone.

"Listen Bobby, have you heard from Sam lately?"

"It's been a few weeks, but that's not unusual these days. Why, something wrong?"

"I don't know." Dean stood up and started pacing the room. "He… ah… He contacts me every Friday to tell me he's still alive, but he missed the last one. I'm… I'm worried about him." There, it was out. That was hard. "He said you knew how to contact him…"

A pause on the other end. Then Bobby inhaled deeply. "I do… But I'm not sure that I should."

"Why the hell not, Bobby?"

"Calm down boy! Let me explain."

There was another pause and Dean could nearly see him scratch his head under his cap.

"About six months ago, we got word that there was a new player in town. His name is Randall and apparently he is the definition of bad news."

"Human or demon?"

"We don't really know what he is. He seems to be human, but he has some psychic abilities and he definitely has demons doing his dirty work."

Dean inhaled sharply. "Do you think he is one of Azazels psychics?"

"No idea. Seems pretty damn unlikely. Anyway, word was that this guy had it out for Sam. One day he was ambushed in his motel room. He barely made it out alive."

"Is that when he went into hiding?"

"Yea. Didn't do him any good though. Two weeks later, Randall found him again. Sam showed up on my doorstep, beat to hell. He figured Randall traced his phone."

"So that is what all the juggling phone numbers is for."

"Yes. I've got an emergency number to reach him, but I think Randall's got tabs on my phones as well. If I call him, I might just get him killed."

Dean squeezed his phone so tightly, he could hear it creak. "Can't you trace the GPS on his phone?"

"He disabled it. Randall can trace nearly everything. Keeping the GPS working was too much of a risk."

Dean sat back down in his chair and rubbed his hand over his face. "Then what the hell do we do, Bobby?"

"I don't know." Bobby hesitated. "Sam's been pretty much on his own these past few months. Randall is watching all his old contacts, including me. There's one or two people I can call, but that's really it."

Dean closed his eyes. Now what? If he went looking for Sam, he could lose his job. And Jen… what would she say? He shook his head. Sam needed him. It was that simple. If it was between his brother and this life, the decision was easy.

"You make those calls and let me know what they say. If Sam hasn't contacted me in twenty-four hours I'm coming to you."

"But…" A few seconds of silence. "It…ah… I'd like that."

"Yeah… talk to you soon Bobby."

Dean snapped his phone shut and nearly jumped out of his chair when someone spoke behind him.

"Who's Bobby?"

"Jen…" muttered Dean.

He turned around and saw the smile fade from her face. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"It's…ah…" Dean closed his eyes for a moment, trying to decide how much he could tell her. "It's my brother," he said softly. "He… he hasn't called in a few days and…ah… I think he might be in trouble."

"Your brother?" she sat down on the arm of his chair. "The free spirited, travelling the country, can't come for Thanksgiving brother?"

"That's him." Dean said with a feigned smile.

"Now why would you think he's in trouble?" She threw her long hai back over her shoulder. "He probably just forgot to call. He seems the type."

Dean shook his head. "No. He might be a bit of a wild one, nut he'd never do that. He's in trouble, I know it."

And he did. Slowly but surely the hunter inside started waking up again. And it was yelling at him. Sam was in trouble, no question about it.

Jenny threw an arm around his neck and leaned her forehead against his. "Even if he is, what are you going to do about it? He could…"

"I'm going to find him." It came out surprisingly determined.

"What?" Jen pulled away from him and stood up. "Dean, you can't just go running around the country looking for him. Do you have any idea where he could be?"

"No," he said softly. "But I'll find him. I know him better than anyone else in the world."

"Do you? You haven't seen him in years, Dean! And now you are just going to run after him and clean up his mess? Come on! What about your job, what about…"

"Jen, please! Sam is…" He took a deep breath. "He's my little brother. I've been looking out for him my entire life. I literally pulled him from a fire when we were kids. There is a reason he contacts me every week. It's because he trusts me to look for him when he doesn't."

"But why?" she said softly. She turned to face him, her eyes sparkling blue in the pale sunlight that fell in through the window. "Why you? What does he ever give you in return?"

"Enough," muttered Dean. "Jen, I'm sorry. But I have to go. I have to find him."

She stepped a little closer and looked at him through her eyelashes, a small smile on her lips. "I really wish you hadn't said that."

And her eyes flashed black in the pale sunlight.


	3. which side of the bed I should lay

Honestly? This chapter squicked me out. A lot. That demon is disgusting, be warned. Many thanks for all the reviews! Every time if feel insecure about the story, I just read them all again. You guys keep me writing. You and my muse. She is on crack.

Enjoy!

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…_which side of the bed I should lay._

He jumped out of his chair and backed away from her. The demon tilted her head, a mocking smile on her face. "What's the matter honey? Don't you love me anymore?"

Dean slowly backed away in the direction of the door. "Let her go, you bitch!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that," said the demon. "There wouldn't be too much left of poor little Jen if I did."

Dean felt his hands tremble with rage. "She's dead, isn't she?" he asked hoarsely.

The demon smiled. "Has been for a while now. Shame really, she was such a sweet girl. I liked hearing her scream inside my head. Or, her head technically."

Dean backed away further, his hand brushing the cabinet beside the door. "How did you get in here?"

"You invited me in, smartass. One quiet nightly visit, a few scratches across your pathetic little devils traps, a sweet smile and a bit of cleavage and you were practically eating out of my hand."

Dean took another step back, slowly sliding his hand over the top of the cabinet. "So you've been playing this little masquerade the whole time, haven't you? Why?"

"Orders from the boss," she said lightly. With a few quick steps, she was standing in front of him, a sickening smile on the face he thought he knew so well. "Tell me, Dean," she whispered. "What was it like, going there with a demon?" She put a hand on his chest and leaned in closer, her dead breath ghosting over his face. "Wasn't it the best you've ever had?"

Dean turned his face away from her. "You wish, bitch."

She chuckled softly. "That's not what you whispered in sweet little Jenny's ear." She slowly ran her fingers down his cheek. "Looks like I have you all to myself, honey." She leaned a little closer, her body pressed against his. "How about you and me have a little fun?"

Dean felt the door against his back. She pushed him back harder and he turned his face away in disgust. "Sorry, but being groped by a dead bitch is not my idea of a good time." He leaned to the side a bit, his hand sliding over the cabinet. _Damn, where is it? _"So who is this boss of yours?"

Her lips softly touched his ear. "I don't think I'm going to tell you that." She leaned back a little and smiled at him. "Because I think you are going to die tonight."

"Well, don't count on it." Dean's hand finally touched the object he was looking for. He shoved her away and gripped the small bottle of holy water tightly in his hand. Before the demon could come closer, he twisted of the cap and flung the water in her face. Smoking and screaming, she stumbled away from him. Before she had time to recover, he yanked the door open and sprinted through the hallway to the front door. If he could only get to his car… Sam had taken most of the weapons, but there was still enough in the trunk to defend himself. He pulled the door open and fumbled with his keys.

_Come on!_

He yanked the trunk of the Impala open and grabbed a shotgun, loading it with practiced fingers. Not much use against a demon of course, but it might just slow her down a little. The Latin was all jumbled up in his head, nearly forgotten in the last two years. He rummaged the trunk for his little book when something occurred to him.

He was still alone. She hadn't come after him. Cautiously, he walked back to his front door. The house was silent and empty. He walked through the living room, looking at it with the eyes of a stranger. Small smudges of sulphur littered every surface. Everything she had touched. The house was filled with the smell of it. She was nowhere to be seen. Dean silently walked up the stairs, his shotgun and a bottle of holy water in his hand, exorcism book in his pocket. Something was really wrong about all this. Why would she just let him go? He was weak, unprepared. She could have killed him easily. Hell, she could have killed him a thousand times over in the past months. Why not do it? Why the whole masquerade? It made no sense. He searched the rooms one by one, the bedroom last of all. For a while, he just stood there. Staring at the bed he shared with someone he thought he had loved.

The bed he had shared with a demon.

The sheets were covered in a fine dust of sulphur. He shivered. Why hadn't he seen it before? It was obvious now that a demon had lived in this house for months. He could smell her everywhere. How was it possible that she had fooled him?  
He shook his head. It wasn't the time for difficult questions. It was time to get his ass to Bobby's and figure it all out.

Hastily he pulled some of his things from the closet and stuffed them in his old duffle. Not too much, just the bare essentials. Just enough to get by. He quickly searched the house one last time. There was nothing else to take with him. Out of habit, all things he really didn't want to loose were kept in the Impala. The few photographs he had of his family, his dad's journal, a few other odds and ends. Other than some clothes and toiletries, he needed nothing. Just like old times. Before he closed the front door, he looked around one last time. The house was abandoned, in more ways than one. All of a sudden, it wasn't home anymore. If it had ever been. He blinked a few times. It was like a veil had lifted. Suddenly, he saw things differently. He saw his life like it really was. An illusion. A hunter never stopped being a hunter. Not really.

He closed the door and walked towards his car. He didn't see Jenny standing in the shadows across the street, a smug smile on her face.

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I'll try to update this story very regularly, but writing is still a little slow because I broke my hand a few weeks back. I'll do my best to keep it coming!


	4. When all the stars are falling down

Okay, this story is getting way out of hand… I honestly don't know where this is coming from. I've got a few chapters already finished and there are a few twists I didn't see coming until I wrote them down. Can't wait to see how it ends, I have no idea.

Still quoting The Moody Blues. Different song this time.

Enjoy!

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_When all the stars are falling down…_

"Bobby?"

"Dean?" A moments hesitation on the other end. "Did he call you?"

"No…ah….there's something else. I'm on my way to you now, I'll explain it when I get there."

"Okay. When you get here, take your car round the back. Stay in the car until I come out. Got it?"

"Bobby, what…"

"Good. Hurry up."

And he hung up.

Dean stared at the phone in his hand. _Okay…_

Now the shit had definitely hit the fan. Bobby didn't normally hand out orders without explanation. And more than that, he sounded scared. Well, maybe not really. Bobby didn't do scared. Worried was more like it. But he was more worried than Dean had ever heard before.

It was a long drive, but he honestly didn't mind. It was the one thing he had missed about his old life. The long hours in the car, vibrating with the roar of the engine, listening to his music and feeling miles and miles of asphalt pass beneath the wheels. _And his brother in the passenger seat…_ Yeah that too. It had never felt right when Jenny had been in that seat. Go figure. She had left her scent on his car as well as his house. A fine dust of sulphur on the dash, a yellowish handprint on the window. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. He was going to scrub his car down first chance he got. She deserved that much.

He made it to Bobby's in record time. As instructed, he drove around the house, killed the engine and waited. It took Bobby no more than five seconds to wheel out of the house, down the wooden ramp and to the drivers side of the Impala. Dean rolled down the window, but before he could even say hello, Bobby pointed to a big yellowish shipping container in the scrap yard. The door was swinging and creaking in the wind. "Park her in there, close the doors and come inside." Without waiting for an answer, he wheeled his way back up the ramp and disappeared through the door.

Dean raised his eyebrows. Yep, something was definitely wrong. Very wrong. He quickly did as he was told. As he walked back towards the house, he couldn't help but notice that the scrap yard had changed. There were four more of the old rusty containers standing around. The walls of cars had been carefully relocated. They circled the house and the yard out back. The front of the yard was now nearly empty, leaving a clear view of the front gate and the road. All that was missing was the moat. And the drawbridge.

It was a fortress, intended to ward of a human enemy.

He quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He had barely managed to look around when a splash of holy water hit him in the face.

"Bobby!" he said indignantly.

"You reek of sulphur," said Bobby flatly.

"I know," Dean shook the water from his hair. "You mind telling me why this place looks like the rusty version of fort Knox?"

"You first." Bobby wheeled his way into the living room and Dean followed close behind him, snatching a towel from the cluttered kitchen on the way. Drying his face, he took his usual place on the old couch and felt a familiar spring dig into his back. His shoulders unclenched a little. He took a deep breath. This was more home than his false life had ever been. Slowly, all the pieces were falling into place again. The veil was nearly gone now, his mind once again working like it used to. And it was screaming at him, scolding him. _Why didn't you see it before?_

He took a deep breath and tried to pretend that it wasn't a little shaky. "You…you remember I told you about Jenny?"

"Your girl?" Bobby raised an eyebrow. "What about her? Is she…"

"She's a demon, Bobby."

"_What?_ When…"

"She has been the whole time." Dean tiredly scrubbed a hand over his face. "There was something… I don't know how to explain it. The signs were all there, I just didn't see it. She disabled my devils traps so she could get in the house, but she didn't try to hide anything else. There was sulphur all over the house. In the car, in…"

_In my bed_.

He couldn't bring himself to say it. "I screwed up, Bobby. She was there, right in front of me the whole time…"

Bobby swore under his breath. "How did you get out?"

"She… she let me go."

"She _what?_" Bobby shook his head. "Dean that makes no sense."

"You don't say." Dean leaned back on the couch. "When I asked her why she was there, she said she had orders from someone."

"She say who?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. Bobby shook his head. "Stupid question, sorry. Do you think this has anything to do with Sam going missing?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. It's one hell of a coincidence don't you think?"

"Yeah, it is. I called some people, but nobody knows where he is. All I know for sure is that he was in Austin six weeks ago, chasing a Werewolf. One person said she had something more, she is on her way here."

"Why couldn't she say it on the phone?"

Bobby turned his wheelchair and rolled towards the kitchen. "She is one of Randall's targets, just like Sam. She can't talk on the phone for too long."

Dean stood up and followed Bobby into the kitchen. "Speaking of Randall, who is he and what does he want with Sam?"

"I don't really know all that much about him. Lucy can tell you more, she knows everything there is to know about Randall." Bobby grabbed two beers from the fridge and handed Dean one. "She's the only one who worked with Sam in the past few months. She knows more about Sam's habits than anyone else right now."

"Does she now?" said Dean softly.

Bobby looked up. "Yes she does. Sam was forced to change all his aliases, sever all connections to anyone. The only ones he regularly spoke to were you, me and her. She hunted with him a couple of times. Right now she knows more about him than you do."

Dean sat down in a kitchen chair. "If Sam was in so much trouble, why didn't you tell me?"

"He begged me not to. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but he didn't want to drag you back into the hunt. He thought you were happy with…"

"The demon," muttered Dean. He took a deep breath. Suddenly, one of the pieces fell into place. "That's what she was doing. She was keeping me away from Sam."

Bobby leaned his elbows on the kitchen table. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes I do. When I said I was going after Sam, she tried to talk me out of it. But when she realised that I was going anyway, she blew her cover."

"Like her work was done," muttered Bobby. "But why didn't she just kill you?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. It really looked like she was going to, but then she was gone all of a sudden."

A long silence fell. Dean stared down at the table, his beer forgotten in his hand. It was all too complicated. Nothing made sense anymore. There was a huge piece of the puzzle missing.

"She was probably working for Randall," said Bobby thoughtfully. "It makes sense. If Randall wants Sam, he'll want to isolate him."

Dean shook his head. "I don't know Bobby. Randall started chasing Sam about six months ago, right? Jenny… the demon has been with me longer than that."

"But still, she was taking orders from someone, and the only one working against Sam right now is Randall. It's the only thing that makes sense." He looked up at Dean's face. "In that case she probably had orders to leave you alone. And that means…"

"… that Randall needs me alive for some reason," muttered Dean.

The distinct sound of a heavy motorcycle rumbled in the front yard. Bobby wheeled his chair to the living room with practiced ease, snatching a shotgun from the table on the way. But after one glance from the living room window, he turned around and dumped the shotgun back on the table. "It's her," he said quickly, before rushing to the backdoor.

Dean quickly dumped his beer on a side table and followed Bobby to the back porch. A big black motorcycle pulled up beside the wooden ramp. The woman riding it looked almost ridiculously small on the heavy machine. There were two bulky cases attached to the back of the bike and a square bag rested on top of the fuel tank. The woman wore tight fitting jeans and a heavy leather jacket. She kept the engine running, making no move to take of her helmet. Her face was hidden behind the dark visor. When she saw Bobby, she relaxed marginally. He pointed to one of the shipping containers. "That one's empty."

She nodded briefly and rode away, throwing up a cloud of dust.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What's with the containers?"

Bobby wheeled his way into the house. "If Randall is watching, I don't want him to see who's here."

"Is that why you turned the place into a fortress?"

Bobby gave him a brief look. "You can never be too careful."

"Getting paranoid in your old age?"

"With someone like Randall on the loose, you'd be paranoid as well."

Dean picked up his beer and followed Bobby back into the kitchen. "So this Lucy, how well do you know her?"

"Pretty well. I saved her from a spirit when she was a kid. It killed both her parents. And less than two weeks later the little brat was on my doorstep, demanding to know if what she had seen was real."

Dean stared at him. "She found you?"

"Her dad was a cop. She remembered my licence plate and looked it up on her dad's computer. She couldn't have been older than fifteen."

The door behind him opened softly. Bobby's eyes widened a little, but before Dean could react, someone pressed a gun against the back of his neck.

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My apologies… I'm not someone who likes to keep people hanging, but I couldn't help it. I'll update soon, I promise!


	5. Into the sea and to the ground

I told you it wouldn't be long! Thanks for the reviews, alerts and stuff. A little bit of feedback is always nice.

Enjoy!

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_Into the sea and to the ground…_

"Sharing stories, are we?" said a cool voice behind him. Dean didn't move. The voice sounded nervous, the gun trembling a little against his skin. Whoever was holding it was nervous as hell.

"Lucy…" said Bobby in a calming voice.

"Shut it," she hissed. "Don't move an inch or he gets a bullet through his spinal cord."

"Lucy, what the hell happened to you?" Bobby raised his hands a little, moving slowly.

"What is he doing here?"

"I told you…"

"You told me Dean Winchester could be trusted!" she was shouting now, a hint of hysteria in her voice.

"Of course he can be trusted!" said Bobby indignantly.

Lucy leaned forward. The gun shifted from the back of his neck to the side of his head. Her long hair touched the side of his face. "Then why did a demon tell me otherwise?"

"And it wasn't lying," said Dean sarcastically.

"Shut it, smartass." She placed her free hand on the edge of the table. It was stained with blood. "I was ambushed by the damn thing in my motel room. It was one of Randall's." Dean felt her lean forward a little further, trying to find her balance. "It told me that Dean Winchester had been their bitch for a long time."

"I'm nobody's bitch," muttered Dean.

"Right now you're mine, so shut it."

"Like you're going to pull that trigger." A tense silence fell. Bobby had a warning look in his eyes that clearly told Dean that this girl had no issues whatsoever with pulling the trigger. The older man lowered his hands a bit. "Lucy, just let him explain…"

"Explain?" she chocked out. "Bobby, he smells like he has been rolling in sulphur. I can't believe you just let him come inside." She was rambling now, dangerously close to hysterics. The gun was shaking in her hand. "You know how dangerous it can be, Bobby. And you just let him right in the door. You just…"

"That's enough!" said Bobby sharply. To Dean's surprise, she stopped talking immediately. "Lucy, do you really think he would be sitting here if something was wrong with him?" Lucy didn't answer, but the gun stilled a little. Bobby nodded. "That's what I thought. Now give me the gun and sit down before you fall over." After a few seconds hesitation, the pressure of the gun left Dean's cheekbone. Lucy stepped away from him and into his line of sight. She looked like she had gone a few rounds with a brick wall and lost. Her hair was sticky with blood. It was dyed black, but little bits of blond came peeking through here and there. Underneath all the bruising she would have been pretty, if not for the long, ragged scar running from the bridge of her nose right down into her neck. Bobby rolled forward a little and took the gun from her hand. "Now you two stay here and don't kill each other while I get us some whiskey."

The girl sat down in one of the rickety kitchen chairs like her legs couldn't support her anymore. Without a word, Dean stood up and pretended not to notice her muscles clench when he walked past her to the sink. He grabbed a towel and held it under the cold water for a few seconds. He turned around and held it out to her, still not saying anything. After a moments hesitation, she took it from him and started dabbing at the dried blood on her face. "Thanks," she muttered without looking at him.

He sat back down in his chair, wishing Bobby would hurry up with the whiskey. Not only was the whole situation extremely awkward, he could really use a drink.

Lucy kept staring at the table, determined to avoid looking at him. Dean cleared his throat. "There was demon with me," he said awkwardly. "She… she fooled me somehow. She was with me for a long time before I noticed. We think she might have been working for Randall."

"Everything nasty has something to do with Randall these days," she muttered. She didn't apologise. She didn't say she believed him. He wasn't sure she did.

Bobby wheeled his way back into the kitchen with a large bottle of whiskey. Without pause, he pulled a couple of glasses from a cabinet and an icepack from the freezer. He clanged the glasses down on the table and shoved the icepack into Lucy's hands.

"Girl, if you ever pull a stunt like this again, I'm locking you up in a shipping container. Got it?"

"Sorry," muttered Lucy.

"You'd better be," said Bobby sternly, but the gruff tone was not reflected on his face. He unscrewed the bottle of whiskey and filled up the glasses.

Dean cleared his throat. "Bobby said you knew something about Sam."

She nodded. "Yes. He asked for my help on a hunt in Huntsville, Texas four days ago, but when I got there, he was gone. There was an open grave on the cemetery, so I figured he had taken care of it himself and moved on. It's happened before. We can't exactly call each other, so I couldn't tell him I was coming and he couldn't tell me it wasn't necessary."

Dean swallowed his whiskey, the alcohol burning his throat. What the hell kind of trouble had Sam gotten himself into this time?

"But if he can't call you, how did he ask for help?"

"We have another way of communicating." She pulled a newspaper from her inside pocket and pointed at a tiny advert near the bottom of the page. It said: "In need of assistance, call…" and then a set of random numbers, not looking like a phone number at all.

"Coordinates," said Lucy. "Scrambled around a bit so nobody recognises it as such. It's a little awkward and very slow, but Randall hasn't found out about it yet."

Dean turned his glass around in his hands. "What can you tell me about Randall?"

She gave him a brief look and threw back her whiskey in one swallow. "I don't really like talking about him."

"I know you don't," said Bobby. "But if we are going to find Sam, we need to know." His voice was soft, but uncompromising.

She took a deep breath. "Better pour me another one then."

Bobby filled her glass again and put the bottle down beside her hand. She picked up the glass, her hand nearly steady, but not quite.

"About eight years ago now, I got a little tired of the scenery here and went to Europe to see what they had to hunt over there. On one of my first gigs I ran into Randall. He was a hunter, about my age. We were both after the same werewolf, so we teamed up for a little while. But when we finally caught the damn thing, I realised that Randall didn't want to kill it. He wanted to capture it. Use it as 'leverage' as he called it." She made a face that was somewhere between disgust and exhaustion. "I refused, of course. Shot the wolf right there. The poor girl had no idea what was going on. And then Randall turned around and shot me."

Dean put his glass down on the table with a loud clunk. "He did what?"

She nodded vaguely. "Without batting an eyelid. He just took off and left me for dead. I was lucky someone found me less than an hour later or I wouldn't have been here." She stared into her whiskey without drinking it. "As soon as I could I left. Decided there were plenty of other countries I could hunt without running into Randall. Until I heard a rumour that there was someone 'collecting' supernatural creatures. The story was that he had several demons and vampires working for him."

Dean leaned back in his chair. "How does he control them? I mean, they don't just _listen_ to anyone."

She shrugged. "I don't know. They obey him, without question. I've seen it. They are his own little army. When I heard what he was doing, Randall became my next hunt."  
Dean raised his eyebrows at Bobby. The older man didn't notice. He was looking at Lucy with a shocked expression on his face. Her eyes were still down towards her glass.

"It was the biggest mistake I ever made. As soon as he realised I was after him, he started hunting me instead. We chased each other across Europe and Asia for years. Then two years ago, he just took off. I completely lost him for a while, before I realised he'd shifted his territory to the USA. As soon as I touched ground here, he was on to me. In Europe, he was able to trace my phones and he had a tight network of people and … things working for him, but now he is somehow able to find me anywhere. If I stay in one place longer than a day, I can expect company. So for the last two years I have been running for my life, basically."

She emptied her glass again, immediately pouring herself another one. Dean took the bottle from her and filled his own glass as well. "How is Sam involved in all this?"

She swirled the whiskey around in her glass. "About six months ago I made a mistake. I stayed in one place too long and Randall found me. He locked me up in a basement somewhere. Gave me this." She ran her finger down the scar on her face. "Sam was working the same hunt I was and when he realised I was gone, he came looking for me. I still don't know how he did it, but he found me and got me out. And from that moment Sam was suddenly Randall's main target. They found him less than a week later. I wasn't with him, he told me the story afterwards. He fought his way out and went into hiding, but Randall didn't give up. They found him again a few weeks later. After that, Sam went about as far underground as you can go." She looked up at Dean. "You were his lifeline. He contacted you every week so at least somebody would know if he was in trouble. He figured Randall didn't know about you, because you aren't hunting anymore."

"Well, he figured wrong," muttered Dean. "So Sam is on the run, just like you were?"

"Yes. Though it seems Randall can't find him as easily as he can find me. He cut me a little slack when he started going after Sam, but before that he could be on my doorstep in less than a day. With Sam, he seems to be unable to find him unless he uses his phone."

Bobby cleared his throat. "That leaves us with another question. Why did Randall plant a demon in Dean's house?"

Lucy shrugged. "To find Sam, probably."

Dean shook his head. "The demon had been with me for a year and a half. You said Sam has been Randall's target for six months."

Lucy looked up in surprise. "That long? And you didn't notice anything?"

"No," he muttered. "It was like… there was something over my eyes. I couldn't see it. All the signs were there, I just… didn't see it."

She nodded thoughtfully. "That is what Randall does. He can make you forget things. Create illusions. When I was locked up, the door was wide open and I never noticed until Sam walked in."

Dean shook his head. "That guy sound like buckets of fun."

A silence fell. Bobby filled all the glasses again. "So…ah…what to we do now?"

Lucy drained her glass and stood up. "For one, I'm leaving."

"_W__hat?_" Dean glared at her. "Sam saved your life and now you are not going to help us find him?"

She took a deep breath. "I want to, trust me. And I will help you any way that I can. But if I stay here much longer Randall will know. And I don't want him to turn up on Bobby's doorstep." She picked up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. "I'll text you my new emergency number. If you need me, give a call. I'll try to find out as much as I can about where Sam is." She smiled faintly. "Thanks for the whiskey, Bobby." She picked up her gun and hesitated fro a second. Ï hope you find him Dean," she said softly. With a brief nod, she walked out of the kitchen and closed the door quietly behind her. A few minutes later, the heavy motorcycle grumbled to life in the yard.

Bobby leaned his forearms on the kitchen table. "Now what the hell do we do?"

Dean finished his whiskey and stood up. "Easy. We're going to Huntsville."

* * *

Chapters are getting longer and longer… Hope I'm not boring you too much. I hope to have the next one up by friday or saturday.


	6. And angry voices carry on the wind

Thanks for all the reviews! I hope you are in it for the long haul, because somehow I think this story is going to be a little longer than I had anticipated.

Enjoy!

* * *

… _and angry voices carry on the wind__…_

It was another long drive to Huntsville, and this time is wasn't as enjoyable. Dean shifted uncomfortably in the seat of Bobby's old Chevelle. If Randall knew who Dean was, he probably knew the Impala as well. The car was simply too conspicuous right now. That didn't make it any less annoying to leave it behind.

Even more annoying, the Chevelle's radio was broken. So no music, no rumbling engine and no one in the passenger seat. Just great. And while he was looking for Sam, he couldn't call anyone either. While he didn't know what Randall wanted from him, he couldn't take the risk. He was in this alone, no matter what happened.  
It hadn't taken Bobby too long to figure out why Sam was in Huntsville. There had been five disappearances just as many weeks. All victims had been taken from their house, no signs of forced entry or any kind of struggle, and none of them had been found. They had all disappeared on Thursdays, all at exactly the same time.

It was exactly the kind of case Sam would choose. The kind he was good at. Diving into the history of the town, putting all the little pieces together. Sam loved a riddle. But now Sam _was _the riddle and that was never a good thing.

The coordinates from the newspaper didn't point to Huntsville itself, but to a small town in it's shadow. It was anything but exiting. Apparently, the biggest excitement in town beside the disappearances was the fact than someone had dug up a grave and set the coffin on fire. Therefore, it wasn't too hard to find out who Sam had decided to dig up.

Alan Gilbert. Former mayor, respected gentleman and overall pillar of society. Not exactly the type to turn into a kidnapping ghost, but Sam probably had his reasons. He was never one to disturb the dead for nothing.

But Dean wasn't really interested in the ghost. Actually, he barely gave it a second thought. Body was burnt, case was closed. Everything looked pretty calm. But where the hell was Sam?

The town had only three motels. The first one was clean and pleasant looking and clearly above a hunters budget. Choice was between a big commercial concrete block on the highway, or a seedy looking affair on the edge of town. Cash only and no promises.

Three guesses which one Sam had gone to.

The FBI persona was a little hard to pull off without a suit and with a hastily improvised ID, but the motel manager fell for it like a block of concrete.

"Yeah, that guy 's here. What do you want with him?" Before Dean could say anything, the manager leaned forward over the counter. "I knew he was trouble the moment he walked in. For one, he's a frigging giant. Solid muscle all over. And then there was his motorbike…"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Motorbike?"

"Yeah, a Harley. Heavy ass thing too. It's right in front of his room. Has been for the last five days."

"What's his room number?"

"Fifteen, right around the corner there."

Dean thanked him and walked around the corner to room number fifteen. A huge motorcycle was parked right in front of it. He whistled appreciatively. His little brother had found himself one cherry ride. It was a little hard to picture him riding it, but it would definitely make an impressive sight. Hells Angels had nothing on Sam Winchester.

He softly knocked on the door of number fifteen. "Sammy?" There was no answer. Dean pulled out his gun and knocked again. Still silence.

The lock barely needed a lock pick. He could probably have managed with a sturdy tooth pick.

The room smelled dusty and moldy and _empty. _Sam hadn't been there in a while, that was for sure. One wall was covered in his meticulous research. It looked a whole lot better than the wallpaper, despite the rather gruesome illustrations. One of the two queen-sized beds was covered in weapons in various stages of assembly. The other looked like it hadn't been used at all. On the floor in the corner were two square boxes, made to be carried on the back of the motorcycle. They were fitted to carry a useful amount of weaponry. Not as much as the trunk of a car, but more than enough to get by. A large backpack and a square bag with magnets at the bottom to attach to the fuel tank of the motorbike were filled with clothes and other essentials. Sam's laptop was on the table, ready for use. It looked like he could come through the door any second. There was no sign of a struggle, no sign of anything out of place whatsoever. But Sam wasn't there.

Dean sat down on the bed and tiredly rubbed a hand over his face. Now what? If Randall had Sam there was no telling what he was doing to him. No telling if he was still alive. Dean clenched his fists. If that bastard had killed his little brother, he would regret it. Because Dean was going to hunt him down like a wild animal. No matter how tall Sam was, no matter how rough he looked on his Harley, he was still Dean's little brother. And nothing was ever going to change that. Not now, not ever. An nobody touched his little brother without getting their ass kicked.

With careful movements, he started reassembling the guns on the bed. Some of them were familiar, some weren't. He carefully inspected every component, polishing and feeling it like Sam would have done. Nothing was missing. Not even Sam's trusted Taurus. It was the gun he always took with him, no matter where he went. The gun was in pieces, half the bullets taken out, the rest still in the clip. It was like Sam had stood up and walked away in the middle of his work. And he would never have stepped out of the room without taking his gun. Not even to get a drink from the soda machine.

With all the guns safely packed away in their cases, Dean started taking the research of the wall. Sam had been meticulous as ever. Every detail he had found was written down and pinned to the wall in neat rows. Tidy, even and straight. Some people would call it obsessive, but Dean knew his brother better than that. Sam couldn't stand loose ends. Every time he tackled a case like this, he would fish out every little detail and figure out what part it played in the big picture. And somehow he always managed to fit every piece into place. Whenever a piece didn't fit, it was reason to worry. In the more complicated hunts, a missing piece could mean drawing the wrong conclusions. Something out of place could mean making a mistake in reasoning. Sam always wanted to be sure. His never-ending tidiness was his way of saving lives.

Dean took every scrap of paper down and piled it all up on the bed. A quick search of the room revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Sam's toiletries in the bedroom, a few books on the nightstand and his jacket draped over a chair. It was like he could come walking in any second. If he was taken from his motel room, it would have been fast and quiet. Whatever had taken Sam, it had been stealthy.

Dean piled all Sam's things together. The stack was depressingly small. An empty life. A man on the run. His brother had been hunted for a long time. And Dean had lived his comfortable illusion, leaving his brother to fight his own wars. He stared at the floor. Even though he knew Randall had played a mayor part in keeping him and Sam separated, it still felt wrong. He should have been there. He should have been running with Sam, fighting with Sam. Instead, he had been resting comfortably in a demons arms, content with getting fat and old.

He stood up and picked up the heavy cases full of weapons. His search of the room hadn't given him any clues as to where Sam could be, but he knew that the cause of his disappearance had to be something Supernatural. No human could sneak up on his little brother like that. After a moments thought, he pulled out Sam's EMF meter and flipped it on. It stared wailing immediately. Suspicion confirmed. Nice to know.

So it was either a demon or a spirit. Yeah, that narrowed it down. As quickly as he could, he started piling Sam's things into the trunk of the Chevelle. That only left the motorcycle. He was just contemplating where he was going to hide that big ass thing, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and stared at it. He had only been gone for a day, so nobody from his false life would be missing him yet and Bobby and Lucy knew better than to call right now.

The number on the screen was unknown.

After a few seconds hesitation, he flipped it open.

"Dean?" said a breathless voice on the other end.

Dean inhaled sharply. "Sammy?"

* * *

I believe I said I didn't like to leave people hanging? I lied. Look out for an update on Monday!


	7. A beam of light will fill your head

I am officially back to two handed typing! The hand is still a little sluggish, but at least that annoying cast is gone. Playing bass still sucks though.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! All the praise is making me blush.

Enjoy!

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_A beam of light will fill your head…_

"Sam, where the hell are you? Are you okay?"

"Dean, I…" A deep breath, almost a gasp. "You have to help me, there isn't much time."

Dean clutched his phone tightly. "What happened?"

"The spirit I was hunting…"

"The ghost of Alan Gilbert?"

Sam didn't even sound surprised that he knew. "It wasn't him. It was…." Static buzzed in Dean's ear.

"Sammy?"

"I'm okay…" more static. "… her victims alive for five days."

Dean swore under his breath, adding the days up in his head. "That means you've got 'till tonight. Why the hell didn't you call me before?"

"Couldn't. He would find me first." Three guesses as to who 'he' was. "Needed to give you time."

Dean yanked the trunk of the Chevelle open and started rummaging through the trunk for Sam's research. "Do you know where you are?"

"Locked in…" static filled the line again. Sam's voice was barely audible now. "…city… bones are… so many…hurry…"

The last word was almost a plea.

"Sam, are you still there?"

Nothing.

"Sam!"

With an abrupt click, the line went dead.

Dean swore loudly. He only had half a day left to find Sam. And he had no idea how long it would take Randall to trace Sam's phone. With trembling fingers he started sorting through the stack of research. He had barely read any of it when he took it of the wall, mainly because Sam's handwriting sucked. But Sam's work was so organized and meticulous, it took very little time to sort out the basics of the case.

And all of a sudden Alan Gilbert wasn't such a pillar of society anymore.

Fifty years ago, a girl had disappeared from a small house on the edge of town. She was never seen again. Although the police did everything they could, they never found out what happened to her. She was taken by force, they knew that much, but they never found out who did it. Probably, because they weren't looking too hard. The girl's father had been arrested two weeks later for trying to sneak into city hall with a gun. Apparently, he was on his way to kill mayor Alan Gilbert. The man was carried of to jail, screaming like a madman. Shouting that Gilbert would never be forgiven for what he had done to his little girl. Her name was Jane Gaskell. Her body had never been found.

Dean put the pile of papers down in the passenger seat and stared ahead. Sam had already burned Alan Gilberts bones. And he spoke of the spirit as 'her'. That left only one possibility. The girl. Sweet little Jane Gaskell. She took people at exactly the time she had been taken. And if she kept them alive for five days, that was probably how long she had lived.

But her body had never been found. There were no bones to burn. And more importantly, where the hell had she taken Sam?

He closed his eyes and tried to remember what Sam had said on the phone.

Something about 'bones', and 'city' and a plea to hurry up. _Hurry up…_ How was he supposed to do that if he had no idea where to start looking?

There had to be something…

Sam's research was extensive and impressively complete, but frustratingly enough he had adapted some sort of shorthand that was completely illegible. Hunting alone, he never had to worry about anyone else not being able to read it. As it was, the short scribbles left Dean with quite a few unanswered questions.

For example, why would the spirit of Jane Gaskell suddenly start taking people after fifty years? Something had set her off. Something that just might give him a clue to where Sam was. Instinctively, he pulled out his cell and started swearing loudly when he realised he couldn't call Bobby. He couldn't call anyone. And if he didn't find Sam in time… He got in the car and closed the door, swearing at himself.

_Calm down. Don't panic, just calm down and think!_

Jane Gaskell had died violently fifty years ago.

Her bones resting somewhere nobody had ever found them.

_Bones…_

Sam had said something about bones. If she had taken Sam, he was probably in the place where she had been taken herself. Her bones were probably there with him. And all the corpses of the people she had taken in the past few weeks.

Dean shivered involuntarily. That couldn't be pleasant.

Now all he had to do was figure out where Alan Gilbert had taken Jane Gaskell fifty years ago. Yeah, that was going to be easy.

Dean shuffled through the pile of papers again and pulled out a map of the town. Sam had marked all the places people had disappeared from. There was no clear pattern, but all the victims had been taken from the older part of town. The part of town that had already existed fifty years ago. Her hideout had to be in that circle somewhere. It wasn't much to go on, but at least it was a start. His fingers traced the narrow streets on the map. There had to be something there. What was he missing?

Alan Gilbert's house was marked on the map, with a small note from Sam.

'Dem '86.'

Dem was probably demolished. Nothing to lock people up in then.

There was another cross on the map. Something was scribbled beside it in Sam's illegible shorthand.

'AG off, loc?'

After that there were several exclamation marks and the word 'rec'.

No idea what all that meant. But Sam knew something about that place, and that was reason enough to go there. When in doubt, trust your instinct. Or you brother's.

It wasn't hard to figure out which building Sam's little cross on the map referred to. Dean parked the car by the side of the road. Sam was a genius.

City hall. Former workplace of Mayor Alan Gilbert. And judging from the large pile of building material near the gates, it was undergoing some serious reconstruction. Serious enough to disturb the ghost of Jane Gaskell.

_City_…

Sam had tried to say it on the phone, but the ghost cut him off. Dan could only hope his brother's cry for help hadn't pissed her of too much. As inconspicuously as he could, he picked up his old shotgun from the trunk. It felt strange, yet familiar. The grip was completely adjusted to his hand. The shotgun was still an extension of his arm, despite the fact that it had been gathering dust in the trunk for two years.

Inside the large building, it was fairly quiet. The top floors were filled with the sound of hammers and power tools, but that wasn't where he was going anyway. The most logical place to hide a young girl for five days was the basement. It was the best place to start. With his shotgun safely hidden beneath his jacket, he slowly made his way through the building, avoiding the builders as much as he could. The stairs to the basement were hidden behind a door marked 'private'. As soon as he put his foot on the top step, the EMF in his pocket started wailing loudly. The smell drifting up was gruesome and horribly familiar. The smell of death. Dean quietly closed the door behind him and pulled out his shotgun. The basement was only illuminated by one small light bulb. The corners were hidden in the shadows. Bags of cement and other building equipment was piled up against the walls. The EMF started wailing even louder. Definitely in the right place. But where the hell was Sam?

"Sammy?" he whispered.

No answer.

"Sam!" a little louder this time. Still no answer.

The small light bulb started flickering above his head. The EMF was wailing loud enough to make his ears hurt.

"Come out, you little bitch!"  
Jane Gaskell may have been an innocent little girl once, but hurting his brother definitely qualified her as a bitch.

In a flash, the ghost appeared before him. Before he could react, she sent him flying across the room. He hit the wall hard, the old bricks shifting a little under his weight. With a grunt, he pushed himself up and grabbed his shotgun. He started when a pale face appeared only inches from his own.

"He is mine," the girl whispered. She couldn't be older than twelve. "He will suffer. You will not take him."

"Watch me," muttered Dean, and he pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot echoed through the basement. With a screech, the ghost vanished and suddenly the half-dark basement was completely silent.

Except for one small sound. Scraping, tapping. Like rats walking over the pipes, but different. Very regular and very familiar somehow. It took him a few seconds to identify it.

_Meta__llica._

Someone was tapping a Metallica song on one of the heating pipes protruding from the brick wall behind him.

"Sam!" with the barrel of the shotgun he banged the pipes twice. There was a pause on the other end. Then his signal was repeated.

Cursing loudly, Dean started looking around the basement for something to attack the old wall with.

She locked Sam in…

She locked him in with five ripe corpses.

That bitch was so dead.

In the corner of the basement, a big sledgehammer rested against the wall. Dean picked it up and weighed it in his hands. _The bigger the problem, the bigger the hammer._ That philosophy applied to anything in life. With all his strength, he swung the hammer around and slammed it hard against the fragile wall. He stumbled and nearly fell when the hammer shot through the wall.

"Dean?" the voice from the other end was weaker than he would have liked, but it was _there. _

"Sit tight Sam, I'll be right through."

The stench coming from the hole in the wall was enough to make him gag. He could hear Sam coughing and gasping. The air in there had to be almost impossible to breathe.

The light above his head started flashing again. Without hesitating he picked up his shotgun, turned and fired in one fluent motion. The ghost screamed again and vanished in a flash.

"Dean, we need to burn her bones." Sam's voice sounded stronger this time.

"You think?" Dean picked up the sledgehammer again. "Get away from the wall."

He could hear Sam shuffling around on the other end. Without hesitating any longer, he slammed the hammer into the wall twice more. The old mortar crumbled easily, leaving a hole big enough to fit his shoulders through. He pulled out his flashlight and shone into the hidden chamber. What he saw nearly made him vomit. In one corner, a pile of dead bodies was stacked against the wall, their throats slit so deep the heads nearly came rolling of. The smell of decay was overwhelming. At the bottom of the pile, some clean bones were visible.

And in the other corner was Sam. He was sitting with his back against the wall, his eyes shut tightly against the sudden light. There was blood on his face and in his hair and he looked paler than the ghost.

"Dean, the light," he muttered.

Dean quickly lowered his flashlight. "Sorry, you okay? Can you come this way or do I have to climb in?"

" 'm okay," Sam slowly pushed himself up to his knees and steadied himself against the wall, his eyes still closed. "Keep an eye out for the ghost."

With one eye on the basement and one eye on Sam's slow progress, Dean calmly reloaded his shotgun. This ghost chick was toast.

The hidden chamber was so low that Sam couldn't even stand upright. He had one hand on the wall and he was blinking against the light coming in through the hole. He held something tightly in his free hand, squeezing it so hard his knuckles were white. Dean reached into the hole and grabbed his shoulder. "You think you can get through?"

"Do I have a choice?" whispered Sam hoarsely. His muscles were tense underneath Dean's hand. He looked at his little brother with raised eyebrows. Sam was even more muscular than he remembered. It was definitely going to be tight fit.

But Sam _really _wanted to get out of there. Before Dean could offer breaking away another piece of the wall he was already climbing out, apparently not noticing his bare arms scraping over the bricks. Dean struggled to help him without letting go of his shotgun. Sam leaned heavily against him.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Dean smiled vaguely. He knew Sam was thanking him for so much more than just helping him out of a hole a wall. Those two words said _thank you for finding me_ and _thank you for coming for me._

_Thank you for not abandoning me_.

"Anytime Sam," he whispered.

"How touching," said a cold and very familiar voice from the top of the stairs. "You miss me, Dean?"

Dean raised his shotgun, his finger tense on the trigger.

"Jenny."

* * *

It's not exactly Monday anymore… It's been Tuesday for 2 hours around here. This chapter was really hard to write. I've been tinkering with it for hours. Watching speed skating while writing doesn't help either. Hope it came out a little decent.


	8. and you'll remember what's been said

Sorry to keep you waiting! Thank you for all the lovely reviews, you guys are great for my ego.

Enjoy!

* * *

_And you'll remember what's been said…_

Dean felt his brother freeze under his hand. "Is that Jenny?" he whispered. Dean didn't answer. He didn't take his eyes of the demon at the top of the stairs.

"I see you found him," said Jenny. "Good job. I'll take it from here."

"I don't think so."

Sam straightened up a little, pulling away from Dean's support. "What do you want from me?"

She smiled coldly. "From you? Not much. You're not my type, honey. But the boss, he wants all kinds of things from you." She calmly started walking down the stairs. "As for your brother, we are going to have a lot of fun together."

To Dean's surprise Sam stepped forward, straightening up to his full stature. "If you lay a finger on him I will skin you alive."

Her smile widened. "I already laid my fingers on him. All over. Let's just say your aren't the only Winchester with a hell-bitch girlfriend anymore."

"Sam, I didn't know," muttered Dean behind him.

Sam didn't look at him. He never took his eyes of the demon. "You'll pay for this," he muttered. "I'll make sure of that."

"Well I'd like to see you try," said Jenny.

Without warning, she leapt forward. Faster than Dean thought possible, Sam whipped out a bottle of holy water and threw the contents in her face. She screamed, smoke rising of her skin. Her face contorted into an ugly grimace. "You've got some nerve, Sam Winchester."

Sam didn't reply. He stood in the middle of the basement, his shoulders straight and the bottle of holy water steady in his hands. Dean stepped forward and stood beside him, their shoulders just touching. Sam didn't look at him, but Dean saw a small smile ghost over his face.

"The Winchesters reunited eh?" said Jenny in a mocking voice. "Enjoy it while it lasts boys." She extended her hand and they both went flying across the old basement. Dean slammed hard against the wall, pinned in place by the demons' spell. Sam grunted a little when his head connected with the hard concrete.

"Oh, don't worry," said Jenny. "I won't hurt you. All I have to do is keep you here until the boss arrives. And then you are both well and truly screwed."

The small light bulb overhead started flickering a little.

"The boss has great plans for you." She looked at Dean. "The both of you."

"I'll decline, thank you," said Dean coldly. "I don't like people making plans for me. Just ask a certain archangel."

"Randall doesn't like being told no. And he knows exactly how to get his way, trust me."

"Sounds like a spoiled brat to me," said Dean. The light flickered again.

Jenny looked up. "What the hell is this?"

In a surge of cold air, the ghost of the little girl appeared in front of the demon. "You will not take him," she whispered. "I will make him suffer."

Jenny stepped back, her hands raised towards the translucent spirit. "Like you are going to stop me."

The ghost didn't move. "He is mine," she whispered. "All mine. Forever." And she surged forward and threw her arms around the demon. A loud bang echoed through the basement. The demon screamed and fell to the ground. In a flash of grey smoke, the ghost evaporated. A shockwave slammed into the walls and Dean fell down, suddenly released from the demons hold. Sam crashed to the ground beside him, breathing heavily. Without hesitating, Dean pulled his brother to his feet and ran towards the stairs. Sam stumbled along beside him, struggling to keep up. Dean shoved him ahead as they climbed the narrow staircase. Behind him the demon grunted, slowly coming to her senses.

At the top of the stairs, Dean inhaled the fresh air greedily. The stench in the basement was near unbearable. Sam ran through the door and stopped abruptly. Dean nearly ran into him. "What the…"

"The door!" hissed Sam through his teeth, as he pulled out another little silver flask. Dean understood immediately. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it, while Sam laid down a thin line of salt in front of it. Inside, the demon was swearing loudly. Dean turned away. It still hurt to hear Jenny's voice like that. Even though he knew what she was, it was difficult to forget the long months he had spent with her. Sam grabbed his shoulder. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Yeah…" Dean shook his head a little. Being close to the demon had fogged his senses again. Trying to shake of the sad feeling inside, he started leading Sam towards the exit.  
Sam raised his eyebrows when he saw Bobby's old Chevelle. "Where is the Impala?"

"I left it at Bobby's in case someone was watching. Come on, let's get out of here."

Dean started towards the car, but Sam stopped him with a gesture of his hand. "Wait a sec, where's my motorcycle?"

"What?"

"My motorcycle. Where is it?"

"It's at the motel. But you..."

Sam gave him a determined look. "Then let's go get it."

Dean gave him an incredulous look. "You can't be serious."

"I am not leaving it here."

"You can't ride that thing now! You look like you're about to fall over."

Sam smiled vaguely. "Watch me. I'm not leaving town without it."

Dean shook his head. "Unbelievable. Fine, we'll get it."

The Chevelle was still not the Impala. The radio was still broken. And the passenger seat was still empty. Dean shook his head, a smile on his face. His little brother was truly unbelievable. He was just ahead of him, riding the heavy motorbike with practiced ease. They definitely had a lot of catching up to do.

Huntsville was nearly fifty miles behind them, when Sam looked over his shoulder and pointed at an exit sigh. Dean waved his consent and followed him towards a shady looking motel. Dean got out of the car as Sam pulled of his helmet. "I'll get a room," he shouted.

"Just cash, no credit cards," Sam shouted back. "Do you have enough?"

Before Dean could answer, Sam's wallet came sailing at his head. He caught it skillfully in one hand. It was impressively heavy. He pulled out a wad of cash and whistled through his teeth. There had to be over a thousand dollars in there.

When he came out of the tiny office with two keys clutched in his hand, Sam was leaning heavily on the handlebars of his bike, his head resting on his arms. Dean gently touched his shoulder. "I got us a room. You okay?"

Sam nodded tiredly, adrenaline well and truly spent. With clumsy movements he started the engine and took one of the keys. Dean made a move to grab the handlebars, but Sam barely seemed to notice. He placed his helmet on top of the fuel tank in front of him and pulled away towards the room. Dean stared after him.

When had his brother grown so annoyingly independent? He shook his head, but deep down he knew the answer. It was the day Dean had chosen Jenny over his own brother. A demon over his own brother… He had once thrown those words at Sam, knowing they would hurt. Intending them to hurt. Even now he felt a sting of anger when he thought of that time. But Sam had tried to save the world. Even though he had failed miserably, he had always thought it was for the greater good. Dean was only looking for a normal life. A happy life. Running away from who he really was.

Silently he followed Sam into the room, carrying the heavy bags he had taken from Sam's motel room in Huntsville. Sam was already sitting on the edge of one of the beds, slumped forward tiredly. Dean closed the door behind him and dumped the bags on the ground. In two quick steps, he crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside his brother. Sam still smelled of death. The stench hung on his clothes and his hair, drifting like a cloud around him. Dean smiled grimly. He could still smell the sulphur on his own skin. They made a smelly pair together.

Gently, he put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam, look at me. Are you hurt?"

Sam shook his head, his eyes still on the carpet. With trembling fingers, he touched the cut near his hairline. "I'm fine," he said in a shaky voice. "I'll go clean this up."

Dean gripped his shoulder a little tighter. "Just sit down for a second. Let me take care of it."

Sam laughed hoarsely. "It's been a long time since I heard you say that."

"I know," said Dean softly. "And I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

A silence fell. Dean smiled sadly to himself. He had almost forgotten the way Sam could say so much with so few words. In one short sentence he had said _it's not your fault _and _I forgive you_ and _you're my brother._ It was all he needed to say.

"Well, I still am. I know I let you down. I know you've been alone for a long time. But will you just let me take care of you? If I still know how."

Sam leaned into him a little, their shoulders just touching. For a while they just sat together in silence. Dean was almost afraid to move. Afraid that Sam would pull away and say that he was fine. That he could take care of himself. That he didn't need a big brother anymore.

But Sam didn't say anything like that. He cleared his throat a few times and looked up.

"Dean? Could you get me some water please?"

Dean nudged his shoulder softly.

"Sure thing, Sam."

* * *

No evil cliffhangers this time. The next chapter will be up this weekend!


	9. By all the good men

On with the story!

Enjoy!

* * *

…_by all the good men this world has ever known._

It took over two hours to get Sam cleaned op and settled against the pillows. Even though he kept insisting he was fine, his movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. Twice, he nearly keeled over from sheer exhaustion. Five days of being stuck in a dark basement with a pile of dead bodies was apparently not the most healthy thing to do. Dean expected him to fall asleep the second he touched the mattress, but to his surprise Sam sat up with his back against the headboard, his eyes half-closed but fighting sleep.

He cleared his throat. "So… ghost versus demon. That has to be a first."

"Sam…"

"Ghost versus ghost equals no ghost, and ghost versus demon equals no ghost and a very pissed of demon. We need to remember that."

"Sam…"

"Randall doesn't have ghosts. I've always wondered why. Maybe they just don't mix with his demons. Maybe…"

"SAM!"

Sam shut his mouth and looked at him with tired eyes.

"You're rambling," said Dean softly. "Come on, try to get some sleep."

"I can't," muttered Sam. "He could find us here, I need to be ready."

"So you just don't sleep?" said Dean incredulously. "Seriously dude, you need to get some rest."

"Don't want to," muttered Sam.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. Sam looked at him with a stubborn expression on his face. Dean knew better than to keep pushing. When Sam had something in his head, it was never easy to talk him out of it. Even when it was a lost cause, he never gave in.

Dean cleared his throat. "So, Randall. What does he want from you?"

Sam shrugged. "No idea. I've never met the guy."

"He's gotta be after you for some reason. Can't be because of your good looks."

Sam smiled faintly. "Let's hope not." He hesitated. "So…ah…what about Jenny?"

Dean looked down at the stained bed sheet. "She fooled me. I don't know how, but she did. She's been a demon all this time."

"Succubus," muttered Sam.

"What?"

"A Succubus. I think that is what she is. A demon of lust. They typically target clergymen, trying to get them to break their vow of celibacy."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Well, I didn't exactly take one of those."

Sam snorted. "Not exactly. They have also been known to tempt faithful men into cheating on their wives, but that doesn't apply to you either. I think she was only after you because Randall told her to."

"Yeah, but why didn't I see what she was? I've seen enough demons in my life."

"A Succubus can fog a man's senses. She seduces them and makes them believe she loves them. In the case of a celibate man, she sleeps with him and then lifts the veil. In Europe there are thousands of suicides linked to Succubae."

Dean shook his head. "Honestly, Sam. Only you can recite exotic demon lore while half asleep. How do you know all this?"

"I know someone who hunted in Europe. She chased a whole bunch of them in Northern Ireland."

Dean smiled faintly. "You mean Lucy?"

Sam looked up in surprise. "You know her?"

"Quite a girl. Quick with a gun." Dean fumbled with the bed sheet. "Bobby called her when we realised you were in trouble. One of Randall's demons told her I was bad news, so she pulled her gun on me. It's a good thing she listens to Bobby, or she would have shot my head off."

Sam grinned. "Sounds like Lucy. Was she alright?"

"A little banged up, but nothing serious." Dean hesitated. "Why do you think the demon told her that?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know." He took a deep breath. "Randall has all kinds of plans and schemes, and I don't understand any of them. It's frustrating as hell."

"I know the feeling," muttered Dean. "The question is, what are we going to do about him?"

Sam looked down, his entire posture showing how tired he was. "I don't know," he whispered. "I can't keep running from him forever. But I don't know what else to do."

"Well, at least you're not running alone anymore."

Sam smiled faintly. "Getting sentimental in your old age, Dean?"

Dean grinned and slapped him on his leg. "You wish. And I'm not old. It's called experienced."

"Yeah, right." Sam cleared his throat. "So…ah… you are sticking around then?"

"If we are running, we might as well do it together." Dean stood up from the bed and picked up his duffle. "Fill me in here. The do's and don't of being fugitives."

Sam leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes. "No phone calls, no text messages unless it is absolutely necessary and you destroy the SIM card immediately. Don't have anything delivered, go out to get it. Don't stay in the same motel for more than three days. Avoid crowded places if you can. Pay everything in cash, cut up all your credit cards, and don't go anywhere without a gun and a bottle of holy water."

"Sounds boring. How many SIM cards do you have lying around?"

There was no answer. Dean looked over at the bed. Sam was fast asleep, his head tilted back awkwardly against the headboard.

* * *

Dean fumbled with the key, juggling two cups of coffee and a bag of doughnuts in his hands. When he finally got the door open, he froze in the doorway. The hard barrel of a gun was pressed against the side of his head.

"Dude, it's just breakfast," he muttered.

"Sorry," said Sam, and he lowered his gun.

Dean shook his head. "If you are going to do that every morning, you can get your own breakfast."

"Can't be too careful." Sam took the coffee from his hands and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I borrowed some cash from your wallet." Dean pulled up a chair and opened the bag of doughnuts. "Where do you get that kind of money from anyway?"

"Poker."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "I've never taken home more than a few hundred bucks from a poker game."

Sam smiled a little. "That's because you suck at it."

"Nice." Dean gave him a stern look. "Seriously, Sam."

Sam wrapped his hands around his coffee. "It's something Lucy set up. One of her European friends runs a string of high stakes poker games. Anyone with enough cash can sit in. He owes Lucy a big favour, so he lets us play. I've cleaned out quite a few politicians, lawyers and wall street big shots."

Dean grinned and shook his head. "Not bad, Sammy. Not bad." He looked down at his coffee. "So…ah…can we let Bobby know I've found you?"

"I'll text him before we leave." Sam stood up and rummaged through his bag. "You need to get rid of your SIM card. I've got a few new ones in here somewhere."

Dean looked at him thoughtfully. "So this is how you've been living for the past few months?"

"Basically, yeah." Sam didn't look up. "It's frustrating as hell, but it beats getting caught."

"But we can't keep this up forever! We need to do something." Dean stood up and started pacing the room. "We need to find Randall. Beat him at his own game."

Sam straightened up. "Believe me, I've thought of that a hundred times, but I've got nothing on him. I have no idea who is or where he holes up."  
"Then let him come to us!" Dean waved his arms vaguely in the air. "Let him find us. I'm dying to kick this guys ass."

"Two flaws in that plan, Dean. One, the big boss never shows up himself, he always sends his demon slaves. And two, it's just the two of us against a supernatural army."

"Not exactly the first time that's happened."

"Yeah, but this is different." Sam sank down on the edge of the bed. "Think everything we've ever hunted, all at once. On crack."

Dean stopped and stared at him. "That bad?"

Sam nodded. "It's not just demons. Randall collects creatures. He has an army of them. Vampires, zombies. He has one werewolf that I know of. You name it, he has it."

"How does he control them?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. They just…do as he says."

"That's impossible."

"I know."

A silence fell. Dean sat back down on the rickety chair. "So we're just going to keep running?"

"I wish I knew what else to do."

"Are there any other hunters willing to help us?"

Sam smiled sadly. "I'm not exactly welcome in the hunting community. Most of them would just shoot me in the face."

"So it's Bobby, Lucy, you and me." Dean shook his head. "Quite an army."

"Team free will," muttered Sam under his breath.

Dean gave his brother a long look. "Team free will," he repeated finally. He shook his head. "I can't believe we are running from a _human_. You and me, we've faced more than anyone. We've faced _Lucifer_. And now we are being hunted by a pasty little psycho."

Sam looked away. "Do you think he knows? About Lucifer?"

"Well, it's not exactly common knowledge that we popped him back into his cage."

"But it is common knowledge that I let him out." Sam put his lukewarm coffee on the nightstand.

"Sam…"

"Maybe that is why he's after me. He wants to use me like his demons."

"No Sam," said Dean sharply. "Don't…"

Sam looked up, his eyes flaring with anger. "Don't what? It's true. If he collects supernatural creatures, he…"

"You're not one of them, Sam. You're a hunter. That's what you are, and that's what you'll always be." He stood up and roughly shoved his chair back towards the little desk. "We need to get out of here, we are still too close to Huntsville."

Sam swallowed and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was steady and without emotion. "We should head to Illinois. I've got a lock-up there, I want to get rid of my motorbike."

"What's with that thing anyway?"

Sam shrugged. "It's faster and easier to hide than a car. But if we are in this together…"

Dean picked up his duffle. "In that case, we're going back to Bobby's to pick up the Impala. If we are on the run, we might as well do it in style."

Sam hesitated. "Dean… it's a little conspicuous, don't you think?"

Dean shook his head. "I really don't care. Randall can't possibly watch every car on the highway. And besides, if being on the run means I can't drive my own car I'd rather get caught."

"If you're sure…"

"I'm sure." Dean slung his duffle over his shoulder and opened the door. "Let's hit the road."

* * *

And we are back to two brothers and a car! Let me know what you think.


	10. Another man is what you'll see

And here we are with the next chapter! Thank you all or the wonderful reviews. All the great response really makes it worthwhile!

Enjoy!

* * *

_Another man is what you'll see…_

"So this lock-up of yours, what do you keep in there?"

Sam shrugged. "All kinds of things. You can't exactly take a lot with you on a motorbike."

Dean took two beers from the cooler in the back of the Chevelle and handed his brother one. "Isn't it dangerous, keeping a lock-up? Aren't you afraid Randall will find it?"

"It's a risk," Sam admitted. "But I really need it for all my books and stuff. I pay for it in cash and I never stay anywhere near it. I pick up my things and I leave. So far it's always been safe."

"Why not take your bike straight to Bobby's? I'm sure he has a shipping container you can park it in."

Sam shook his head. "I need to stock up on ammo and there are a few books I want to look at. If we are traveling by car, I can take them with me."

Dean leaned back against the car, the pale winter sun stroking his face. For now, he felt completely relaxed. Even though a psychic nut job with a demon army was on the hunt for him, he felt more at ease than he had in a long time. The hunt was in his blood. It had always been in his blood. Even though Lucifer and cohorts had screwed him over completely, that would never go away. This, living in a car, enjoying the little things. This was his life. _Life _period.

"Sam?"

"Mmm?" Sam was sitting on the hood of the car, leaning back against the windshield.

"Do you think it'll be like before?"

Sam turned his head a little. "Is that a question or a cryptogram?"

Dean waved his hand impatiently. "Hunting. Together. Do you think it can be like before… Lucifer and everything? Just you and me, a ghost or two and a beer afterwards?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. It'll be a lot easier without angels and demons trying to screw us around."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Speaking of angels, have you ever heard anything from Cass again?"

Sam shook his head. "No, nothing. I have no idea where he went. It's a shame really, I was starting to like the guy."

"He wasn't bad once he started defrosting a little." Dean smiled faintly. "Do you remember him and his craving for burgers? It was hilarious."

"Yeah," said Sam softly. A tense silence fell, the comfortable feeling well and truly demolished. Dean swore silently. Why did he have to bring that up? That particular encounter held some painful memories for the both of them. He squeezed his beer bottle hard. Cass eating raw meat like a dog, Famine hungrily devouring demonic souls, Sam's face stained with blood… He shook his head to drive the memories away. There was so much neither of them ever wanted to talk about again. Too much sorrow in the past. Too much between them. Even though he wanted it more than anything, it would never be like before all that.

He drained the last of his beer in one swig.

Well, he was gonna give it a shot anyway.

He tossed his empty beer bottle back into the cooler. "Come on, let's hit the road. We need to hurry if we want to get there before dark."

It was actually well after sunset when they reached the place where Sam had his lock-up. Sam pulled out a key and opened a side door, carefully looking inside with his gun ready. After a few seconds, he disappeared inside. Less than a minute later, the large garage door opened from the inside. As Sam stepped out to get his motorbike, Dean opened the trunk of the Chevelle.  
He looked around the large storage box and shook his head. This wasn't a lock-up, it was a private library. One wall was completely covered in books. There were several boxes on the floor and loose piles of dusty old volumes absolutely everywhere. The rest of the space was filled with cases of ammo and weapons of all shapes and sizes. Everything you could possibly need on a hunt was in there.

Sam rolled the heavy motorbike inside and maneuvered it around all the clutter to the back. Hastily, he started picking out books and piling them up beside the door.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Do you really need all of those?"

"Shut up and help me carry them."

Dean picked up some books and carelessly tossed them into the trunk. "What are you looking for anyway?"

"Anything I can find on Succubae. We need to get rid of that bitch."

There was anger in his voice and fire in his eyes. Jenny had really gone too far. Dean smiled a little. Beware the wrath of Sam Winchester.

"You know I hate it when people call me that," said a quiet voice from near the door.

Sam whipped out his gun, but before he had even raised it, he was flung across the room and hit the wall with a sickening crunch. Dean backed away from the demon, his eyes searching for his brother. "How did you find us?" he demanded.

"That is for me to know and for you to find out." She smiled cruelly. "And this time I didn't come alone."

Strong hands grabbed him from behind and he gasped when sharp teeth sank into his neck.

"No biting, filthy fang!" snapped Jenny.

"I'm just tasting," hissed the vampire in his ear. "Just a little taste never hurt anyone."

"You know the rules, fang."

"Fine," muttered the vampire. Dean felt the hands tighten around his arms. Blood was trickling down his neck. "What do you want, bitch?"

The demon shook her head. "Dean, that is no way to talk to your ex-girlfriend. I might find I have to … punish you for it."

"Well, you didn't let chuckles here take a bite, so I figure the big boss wants me in one piece."

Jenny smiled cruelly. "For now." She stepped closer and grabbed his neck. "Get the other one," she said to the vampire. Dean felt the hands leave his arms. Jenny's strong fingers squeezed his neck hard. "I have to say Dean, you were painfully easy to fool. Legend bigger than the man perhaps?"

Dean gasped for air, her fingernails digging into his skin. She leaned a little closer. "I had a lot of fun with you. I like you Dean, too bad it had to end like this."

The vampire let out a strangled cry somewhere behind him. Jenny's eyes never left his face. "Can't you do anything right, you filthy bloodsucker?"

"Isn't it hard to find good help these days?"

Jenny abruptly loosened the hold on his neck. Dean twisted away from her and turned around. Sam was standing in the shadow, a long machete in one hand and the severed head of the vampire in the other. His face was stained with blood and his eyes were shining murderously. Dean involuntarily took a step back. His little brother looked absolutely terrifying. Jenny shoved him away and stepped forward. "You will pay for that, Winchester."

"Oh, really?" Sam said coldly. "I don't think so." With a little smile he looked up at the ceiling. A big devil strap covered the center of the room. It looked like it had been drawn in blood.

"Clever, Sammy. Really clever," said Jenny, her voice colder than ice. "And what are you going to do now? Exorcism? Good luck."

Sam carelessly threw the vampires head on the floor and wiped the machete on his jeans. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

Dean looked at him from the corner of his eye. "Other than the fact that I have been groped by a demon _and _a vampire this time? Peachy."

"What can I say Dean?" said the demon sweetly. "You're just _edible."_

"Shut your face bitch," said Sam without raising his voice.

"Channeling me, are you?" muttered Dean. "What do we do with her now?"

Sam shrugged. "I have no idea. I don't think a regular exorcism works on a Succubus."

"Damn right it doesn't," muttered the demon.

Dean gave her an irritated look and turned his back on her. "What about the knife?" he said in a low voice.

"_The_ knife? It's broken. The blade snapped months ago when I was fighting my way out of a tight spot."

Dean swore under his breath. "And the Colt?"

"It's at Bobby's. I wanted him to be able to defend himself."

"And what about you?" said Dean softly. "Don't you need to defend yourself?"

"I can run, he can't."

"Point taken." Dean looked over at Jenny again. "I say we take her to Bobby's. See if he can find a ritual to get rid of her. If not, we shoot her with the Colt."

"It's a possibility," muttered Sam. "But we might lead Randall straight to Bobby's."

"Yeah, you're right." Dean shook his head. "We can't have that."

The demon chuckled softly. "Boys, boys. The two hunters the entire supernatural community fears the most and they don't know what to do with me."

"I know plenty of things I want to do with you," said Dean. "It's the logistics that's the problem."

She laughed cruelly. "No, the problem is that you don't want to take me to dear old Bobby Singers place. If you ask me, you care way too much about that crippled old man."

"What do you…"

"I know everything about Bobby Singer, sugar. Randall has been watching him for months. He has been playing you like pawns, the lot of you."

"Randall can keep Bobby out of this, whatever the hell it is he wants from us," snarled Dean.

Her smile widened. "It's simple really." She stepped right up to the edge of the devils trap. "He knows that if you want one Winchester, you're going to need the other as well. For leverage. No other way to get what he wants from either of you."

"Well he's not gonna get us," said Sam calmly. "Either of us."

"Don't be so sure, Sammy-boy," said the demon. "Because I think I have just found your leverage. If you don't hand yourself to Randall willingly, Bobby Singer gets it."

Dean turned away from her to hide the emotion on his face. "You're not exactly in a position to make threats," he said, his voice not as steady as he wanted it to be.

"Guess again, sugar." He could hear her walking along the edge of the circle behind him. "Bobby's place is surrounded. It has been for months. One word and we tighten the noose."

Dean turned back to her, wishing more than anything that he had the demon knife so he could gut her on the spot. "If you touch one hair on Bobby's head, I swear I'll tear you to shreds, you demonic bitch."

"It's a little late for that, sugar. Randall will know what we have discussed here. He will set the plan in motion. Unless you come quietly."

"Dream on, bitch," muttered Sam.

She chuckled softly. "In that case, say goodbye to uncle Bobby."

Without warning, Sam stepped into the circle and punched her hard in the face. Dean could hear his knuckles crack from the force of the impact. The demon crashed to the ground and Sam picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. Without a word, Dean knew what his brother meant to do. He ran outside and opened the trunk of the Chevelle, tossing the contents onto the back seat as quickly as he could. Sam unceremoniously tossed the shrieking demon into the trunk. Without even looking at her, he closed the trunk and trapped her beneath the devils trap painted on the inside.

"Let's go," he muttered.

Dean stepped into the car and started the engine. Before Sam had even closed his door, he was speeding away. It was a long drive to Bobby's. Maybe too long. If they didn't make it in time…

Dean looked at his brother from the corner of his eye. Sam was sitting stiffly upright in the passengers seat, his eyes cold and hard and his face livid. His little brother had turned into one hell of a hunter. Seeing him like that, in full killer mode, was no less than frightening.

* * *

I took a little longer than usual, I hope it was worth the wait!


	11. Who looks like you and looks like me

Updates are getting a little further apart, sorry. I am buried in homework at the moment. I have three essays to finish and a massive stack of books to work through. I dropped them on my toes yesterday, it wasn't fun.

I typed this between all the hard work, hope it turned out okay.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Who looks like you and looks like me._

Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled Bobby's number. He nearly dropped it when Sam swore loudly beside him. "Your phone. That's how she found us, I forgot to disable the GPS on your damn phone!"

Dean gave him a brief look and turned his eyes to the road again. The Chevelle was racing down the highway at a dangerous speed. The phone was ringing on the other end, but before Bobby had picked up, the line went dead. Dean swore loudly and snapped his phone shut.

"Phone's dead. This is bad."

Sam pulled out his own phone. "Do you have Lucy's new emergency number?"

Dean shook his head.

Sam swore again and threw his phone down with such force the screen cracked. "This is all my fault."

"Sam…"

"Don't tell me it isn't! Randall is after _me. _Not you, not Bobby, me. I won't let anyone else take a bullet for me. I…"

"Then what are you gonna do?" shouted Dean furiously. "Are you just going to give yourself up? You heard that bitch, Randall wants me as much as he wants you. This is on me as much as it is on you."

Sam looked away from him, his shoulders tense. "What the hell does he want from us?" he muttered. "The guy shows up out of nowhere, plants a demon in your house and sets his bloodhounds on me. It makes no sense, we've never heard of him before now."

"Well, maybe it's someone we know. Names aren't everything after all. God knows we've made plenty of enemies over the years."

"But Randall hunted in Europe for years. From what Lucy told me he hasn't been here in eight years at least."

Dean nodded, never taking his eyes of the road. "Makes you wonder what he has against us. And you know what else is bothering me? He started chasing you six months ago, but the Succubus has been with me for a year and a half. What the hell's up with that?"

"I don't know," muttered Sam. He stared out of the window. "How far are we from Bobby's?"

"Too far," said Dean softly.

Sam looked at him from the corner of his eye. "Drive faster."

The closer they got to South Dakota, the more nervous Dean got. He caught himself biting his nails and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.  
Bobby was okay, he had to be. Bobby was indestructible. Even after he ended up in that wheelchair, he was still the solid rock anyone could lean on. He was a smart hunter, paranoid as hell. They would never get into his homemade fortress. Bobby wouldn't let them. Dean pressed the pedal to the floor. Bobby was okay.

He'd better be.

Sam shifted in his seat beside him. "Dean?"

"What?"

"When we get there, what are we going to do? If Randall has the place surrounded…"

"Then we are going to drive straight through and find Bobby," said Dean with determination.

Sam was silent for a second. Then he nodded thoughtfully. "Simple plan. Should work."

Dean looked at him from the corner of his eye. "What's up with you?"

"What do you mean?"

Dean hesitated for a second. Definitely not the time and place for this…

"Dean, what?" said Sam impatiently.

"It's just that… you… You've changed man. I mean, in the old days you would be all over me and my 'simple plan.' And in that lock-up…I hardly recognised you back there. And you… you're scaring me, dude."

Sam looked at him briefly and stared out of the windscreen again. "Not the time for this, Dean."

Right…

"Sam…"

"It's not 'the old days', Dean. I've changed, you've changed and there is nothing we can do about it." Sam's voice was cold and hard. No compassion. No understanding. He barely sounded like Sam.

Dean shook is head. "It's just that… the last time something like this happened is when I just got back from the pit, and we all know how well that ended."

Okay… low blow. He watched Sam grow pale from the corner of his eye. Very low…

Sam clenched his fists tightly in his lap, his eye were practically spitting sparks. "If you actually think…" He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, obviously forcing himself to calm down. "It's not like that. Not at all. A lot has happened in the past two years, but now is not the time to talk about this. I'll tell you everything when we know Bobby is safe. But now will you just hurry up and get us there?"

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't. Sam was right. Now wasn't the time or place to talk about this. He could only hope that they would still get the chance to do so.

Bobby's place looked deceptively quiet.

Dean stopped the car some distance away, looking at the house in confusion. There was no sign of anything wrong. All the lights were of. The house was completely dark. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the fact that Bobby always left a light on by the front door, in case of unwanted visitors. Or wanted visitors for that matter. He just wanted to be able to see who was on his porch. And he wanted people to be able to find the door quickly in case of emergency. They had needed that little light plenty of times.

But now it was of, and something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Dean stared at the house. Sam leaned forward beside him. "They're here," he muttered. Just when Dean wanted to ask him how he knew, the radio started crackling with static.

He swore under his breath and hit the gas. The old Chevelle shot forward. The plan was simple. Might as well get it over with. Beside him. Sam braced himself against the dashboard, still leaning forward and staring out of the windscreen. His eyes were fixed on something Dean couldn't see.

"Dean, left!" he barked suddenly.

Without hesitation, Dean yanked the steering wheel to the left. Something lunged at the car from the darkness, jumping up where the car would have been if not for the sudden manoeuvre. Long nails and sharp teeth, flashed in the light of the full moon. Dean wrenched the steering wheel around and nearly spun the car trying to get through the front gate. The rear end of the Chevelle slammed hard against one of the metal posts. Sam had both hands on the dashboard, gripping it tightly to keep himself in his seat in the wildly swerving car.

Dean wrestled to get the old Chevelle back under control. A gunshot rang out from the house and the windscreen broke into an opaque mass of cracks.

"Damn it Bobby!" He hit the brakes hard and the Chevelle spun, slamming hard against the rickety porch of Bobby's house. And suddenly, everything was silent.

A little dazed, Dean raised his head. Sam was lying against the passenger door, his eyes open but looking confused. The cut near his hairline had opened up again and blood was streaming down his face.

The front door slammed open and Bobby came wheeling out at an impressive speed. "Dean? I didn't know it was you. You okay?"

"Yeah," said Dean softly. He pushed his door open and stepped out of the car. The passenger door was jammed against the porch. Inside the car, Sam was moving sluggishly, trying to get his bearings. Dean leaned back into the car. "Sammy? We need to get inside. Can you move?"

Sam pushed himself up from the door, looking pale and confused. Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the other side of the car. "Out this way, come on."

"Sam's with you? Good." Bobby rolled a little closer to the edge of the porch. "I can use all the help I can get."

"Well, next time think of that before you start shooting at us!" Dean snapped angrily. He knew it wasn't entirely fair, but the adrenaline was still flowing and Sam was hanging a little too heavily against his shoulder. Big question now was, how was he going to get big little brother up on the porch with the Chevelle so neatly parked against the steps. Thankfully, Bobby saw his dilemma. "There's a ramp on the side of the house. Go, I'll cover you."

Dean quickly pulled his brother's arm over his shoulders and started walking in the direction Bobby had pointed. Sam was slowly getting it back together, straightening up a little when they reached the ramp. "I got it, Dean," he muttered. He pulled away and made his unsteady way up the ramp. Dean followed close behind, once again cursing his brother's stubborn need for independence. Sam's shoulder was bleeding and he could hardly walk in a straight line. But still, he made his way up the ramp. Alone.

"Get inside, the both of you!" Bobby wheeled his chair back into the house. "And give me a heads up next time you come crashing the party."

Dean bit back a sharp reply and looked around cautiously before following Bobby and Sam into the house. Somehow, it just didn't feel right. It was too easy. Like Randall wanted them in there. When the door fell shut behind him, he had the uncomfortable feeling he was locking himself in.

* * *

Let me know what you think! I hope to have the next chapter up by Wednesday.


	12. And yet somehow he won't feel the same

I didn't make Wednesday… Sorry! I think the muse is abandoning me a bit here. The homework isn't helping either.

But anyway, let me know what you think! I could use a little encouragement…

Enjoy!

* * *

_And yet somehow he won't feel the same_

"Sam, let me see that."

Sam shrank away from his touch. "It's fine."

"No it's not, it's bleeding. Bleeding is not fine." Dean closed his eyes and tried to push away his frustration. Sam was looking at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. He was clutching his right shoulder. It was still bleeding a little. Not enough to be life threatening, but it looked nasty none the less.

"Come on, Sam. Let me fix this." _This is something I can fix_.

"No." Sam's eyes were still fixed on him, but Dean had no idea what he was thinking. "I can do it myself, it's nothing."

"I know you can," said Dean softly. "But you don't have to."

With gentle fingers, he peeled away Sam's bloodstained shirt from the wound. Sam was tense under his fingers, but he didn't try to pull away. Dean carefully pulled away the ruined fabric. What he saw made him stare a lot longer than he liked.

"Sam, what the hell is this?"

Sam stood up and shoved his hand away. "It's nothing, okay? I'm fine."

"The hell you are!" Dean grabbed his uninjured shoulder and turned him around. "Who did this?"

"Who do you think!" said Sam sharply. "Stop staring at me, Dean. I'm…"

"No you're not fine. He branded you for Christ sake!" Dean grabbed his brother's arm to look at the mark again. It was small, no more than half and inch in diameter, but the burn looked nasty and deep. He could feel the ridges burned into his brother's skin. Sharp lines in the centre formed a geometric symbol he had never seen before.

Dean gently traced it with his fingers. "What the hell does it mean?"

"I don't know exactly," Sam said hoarsely. "But I have my suspicions."

Dean pulled him over to the couch. "I'll patch that shoulder up and you tell me everything." He paused for a second. "_Everything_. You hear me Sam?"

Sam nodded faintly and sat back down on the couch. Dean picked up the first-aid kit and say down beside him. "Come on, spill."

Sam took a deep breath. He barely seemed to notice when Dean started cleaning the shallow cut on his shoulder. "About six months ago, Randall's demons ambushed me in my motel room. They took me completely by surprise. I had no idea Randall was looking for me until then. There were six or seven of them."

Sam stared at the ground, his eyes hidden in the shadow. "I took out a few of them, but there were too many. They got me to the ground, and one of them…" Dean felt him shiver at the memory. "…he…branded me. And when the mark was on, they just… let go of me."

Dean looked up from his work. "They did _what?_"

Sam was still looking anywhere but at his brother. "They let go of me, let me stand up. It was like they expected something to happen, but nothing did. So I took my chance and ran for it."

He took a deep breath, shivering under Dean's touch. "It wasn't until I got away from there, when the adrenaline started to fade, that I felt it."

"Felt what?"

"The blood." Sam bowed his head a little further. "It was… reacting. I haven't felt it in years. Not since…" he shook his head slightly, banishing the memories. "But now I can feel it inside me, it's buzzing in my head. And sometimes, I can feel _them_. Randall's soldiers. Not all of them, not always. But sometimes when they get near me I can feel them. I know what they are thinking."

Dean looked at his brother, the bandage in his hand completely forgotten. "God, Sam…"

Sam's fingers touched the mark on his shoulder. "I think Randall knows about… me. I think he marked me to reawaken my powers. I haven't been able to find what the symbol means, but it has to be something like that."

Dean shook his head and forced his fingers to start moving again. "But it didn't work, did it? You haven't…"

The question lingered in the air.

Sam still didn't look up. "No I haven't. I really don't want it all to start up again. You know what happened last time."

Dean carefully taped the bandaged in place. "For the last time Sam, it wasn't your fault. We have both been screwed around by heaven and hell, we have both done things we regret. But this time we are not gonna let anyone pull our strings. Got that?"

Sam nodded slightly, his eyes still on the threadbare carpet. "I just wish it were that easy," he muttered.

"If you two are done bonding, I could use a little help," said Bobby from the doorway. "With my house being surrounded and all that."

Sam stood up and pulled his ruined shirt back over his shoulder. "Sorry Bobby. What happened exactly?"

Bobby wheeled his way into the room, his shotgun on his knees. "They came around sunset. Demons at first, but they can't get in. I saw them though, hanging around the perimeter." He stopped beside the window and looked into the yard. "I had a friend dig in an iron pipe filled with salt all around the yard a couple of months ago. No way any demon is getting across."

Dean nodded appreciatively. "Nice one, Bobby."

"The only problem is, Randall's got more than demons out there. Not everything is stopped by a salt line. A couple of vampires came crashing the gate a few hours ago, pulling the same trick you did." He looked up from the window. "Try and think of a better plan next time by the way."

"We didn't exactly have time for the subtle approach," said Dean. "What did you do about the vampires?"

"Well, I don't exactly keep dead mans blood in the refrigerator, so I set the car on fire instead. They didn't like that. It didn't kill them of course, but they took of running. Haven't seen anything since."

Sam shook his head. "This is bad."

Dean looked at his brother. "Which part exactly?"

"They came here before we trapped the Succubus. She didn't tell Randall to attack, she was sent to lure us here." Sam stood up and started pacing the room. "Randall set a trap for us. And we walked right into it."

"Technically we drove, but that is beside the point," said Dean. "Now that you mention the Succubus, she is still in the trunk."

Bobby chuckled in his beard. "If you dragged her across that pipeline, there won't be too much left of her."

"Good riddance," Sam said forcefully. "The question is, what do we do now?"

Bobby turned his wheelchair around. "I have no idea. It's just the three of us against everything out there. We need help."

Sam waved his hands is the air. "All the phones are down, we can't exactly go anywhere. I think the three of us are all we've got." He shoved his hands back into his pockets and started pacing again. "Shame Lucy isn't here. I know she wants to kick Randall's ass."

"You rang?" said a voice dryly from the doorway.

"Lucy!" Bobby wheeled towards the door. "How in the hell did you get here?"

"I heard through the grapevine that you were in trouble. Decided to lend a hand. Got here just in time I see." Lucy stepped into the room and threw her heavy backpack on the ground. "This is one hell of a mess you're in, Bobby."

"You're telling me. I think…" Bobby paused when the click of a gun echoed through the room.

"Don't come any closer," Sam said softly. His gun was pointed straight at Lucy's chest.

"Sam!" she said indignantly. "What the hell?"

Dean stepped up to stand beside his brother. "Sam, what?"

"That's not Lucy." And without any hesitation, Sam pulled the trigger.

* * *

Once again, apologies for the cliffhanger! I promise I won't keep you waiting too long…


	13. His life caught up in misery

Wow… way to give the muse a kick in the pants… I got so many e-mails after the last chapter that my mailbox exploded. Digitally speaking of course.

Thank you so much for all the encouragement! I hope this lives up to your expectations.

Enjoy!

* * *

_His life caught up in misery,_

"Sam, what the hell did you do?"

Dean had never seen Bobby this angry before. He pushed his wheelchair forward so hard his knees crashed into Sam's legs. "You killed her, you imbecile. You murdered her in cold blood! What…"

"No I didn't," said Sam in a surprisingly soft voice. He looked away from Bobby, his face a picture of sadness. "I didn't. Listen to me, that is not Lucy."

"Sure as hell looks like her," said Bobby sharply. "And if she was a demon, she wouldn't drop dead from a bullet. She…"

Sam stepped past the wheelchair and walked over to the doorway, where Lucy was lying on the ground. A little bit of blood was trickling down from a bullet hole in the centre of her chest. Sam put a hand on her arm and ripped of a piece of slimy skin. He turned back to Bobby and held it up in the air. "Do you believe me now?"

A stunned silence fell in the room. Bobby stared at the bloody mess on Lucy's arm. "What in the…"

"A shapeshifter," muttered Dean. "How the hell did you know?"

"I could feel her," whispered Sam. "The moment she stepped into the room, I could feel her… it." He subconsciously rubbed the mark on his shoulder. "I… what the hell is happening to me?"

"I'd like to know that," muttered Bobby. "Sam, I'm…"

"Don't be sorry, Bobby." Sam looked down at the ground, avoiding Dean's eyes.

Dean cleared his throat. "The million dollar question, what do we do now?"

Sam looked up. "I'm gonna try to find out what that symbol means. If we can figure out what Randall wants from me…"

"From us," corrected Dean, although he knew his words wouldn't really make an impression. He wasn't the one who had been hunted for months. He wasn't the one who had been branded like an animal. Sam had been alone too long to be thinking 'we'.

He turned to Bobby. "We need to reinforce the house. How did that shifter get in here anyway? Hope you didn't forget to lock the backdoor."

Bobby looked down at the body still lying on the carpet. "Lucy has the key," he muttered. "She knows everything about this place. If they have her…"

"The shifter has all her things, so I think it is safe to say that they do," said Dean. "We need to get out of here and find her."

"I figured that much genius. Question is how."

Sam walked past them. "I'm gonna dump this bitch on the porch. Show Randall what we have done to his shifter."

Dean watched his brother as he started pulling up the dead weight with ruthless efficiency. His defences were once again firmly in place. Dean looked away from him, swearing silently. It took him a while to see it, but now it was painfully obvious.

Sam hadn't thrown up the walls because he'd been alone so long. Not because he was being hunted. It was because he was scared.

Not of Randall. Of himself.

Dean cleard his throat. "Bobby? When we talked to Lucy, do you think it was the shifter?"

"There is no way to tell," said Bobby softly. "If it was, odds are she is dead already."

Suddenly, Sam froze in the doorway. He dropped the dead shifter on the ground with a muffled thud. "Dean, you should see this," he said in a small voice.

Dean crossed the room and stared down at the creature. In the neck, half obscured by the long hair, was the exact same brand Sam had on his shoulder.

Bobby looked at it blankly for a few seconds. Then he turned his chair around. "We need to find out what it means," he said calmly. He wheeled his way past the shifter, purposefully riding over her hand in the process. He brushed against Sam as he passed him. "We'll figure this out boy," he said quietly. "Don't worry about it."

Sam didn't respond. He was looking down at the body of the shifter, his hair falling over his forehead. Suddenly, he looked so much younger.

Dean stepped over the body on the floor and gently pushed his brother out of the room. "I'll take care of the shifter. You go around back and barricade the door and the windows."

Sam closed his eyes briefly, obviously forcing himself to stay calm. "Yeah… yeah. I'll do that," he said vaguely.

"Hurry up, before more of them get in."

Sam nodded and turned away. Dean watched his retreating back for a second, his shoulders rigid and tense. Someone was trying very hard to break his little brother. And they were gonna pay for it. Swearing loudly, he started dragging the dead body to the front door.

A sudden fluttering of wings stopped him. He dropped the body and straightened up. He had heard that sound too many times in the past not to recognize it.

"Cas?" he muttered hopefully.

"Dean," said a familiar voice behind him. Dean turned around. Castiel was standing in the middle of the room, dressed in his all too familiar trenchcoat.

"Cas, what the hell are you doing here? Where have you been?"

The angel shook his head. "There is no time for that now. You are in danger."

Dean snorted. "You figure that all out by yourself?"

Castiel stared at him blankly. "There is something going on with Sam."

Dean raised his eyebrows. There was something very strange about the angel. He was standing up very straight, never really looking at Dean. His face was blank and expressionless. He almost looked like when Dean had met him for the first time, when he was still under orders from heaven.

"I figured that much. You don't happen to know what it is, do you?"

The angel kept staring at the wall right beside Dean. "He is dangerous. I have to take you away from him."

And there it was. A little spark of emotion in his eyes. Too fast to interpret. Dean took a step closer to him. "What do you mean he's dangerous. What the…"

"There is no time for this, Dean." Castiel said sharply. "His powers are coming back to him, a lot stronger than they were before. If you don't leave soon, everything is going to spiral out of control. He will kill you."

The last few words hung heavily in the air. Dean swallowed, his hands trembling. This couldn't be happening. It was supposed to be over. The past came crashing down heavily on his shoulders again.

_Save him or kill him…_

"No," said Dean quietly. "He won't do that. No matter what happens to him, he won't do that."

"How can you be so sure?" Castiel was still looking past him, despite the fact that they were standing practically face to face. "You have to come with me."

"And then what? What is gonna happen to Sam?" Dean half expected Castiel to raise his hand and zap him away, angel style, but nothing happened. He was just standing there, his face blank.

"I'll do what I have to do." His eyes darted to Dean's face and away again. He was clearly struggling to keep his calm façade in place.

"No way," said Dean firmly. "I won't let you. I don't care what I have to do, I won't let you."

Castiel's eyes were moving restlessly around the room. "You don't understand, Dean. What is happening is beyond our control. We can't stop this. Sam will change. He already has, no matter how hard you pretend it isn't true."

"You're lying," said a calm voice from the doorway. Sam was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and his eyes cold. "You're lying Castiel. If it really is you."

Dean looked from one to the other. Two faces he trusted without hesitation. Two voices he would believe no matter what they said. And they were facing each other with Dean in the middle.

Once again an unidentifiable emotion filled the angel's eyes. "Sam, I am not…"

"Of course you are," interrupted Sam. "Because the Castiel I know would never say something like that."

"I am sorry Sam, but there is no going back now and you know it." The angel's voice was soft and sympathetic, but his eyes said something different. There were sharp and steady. He was looking straight into Dean's eyes, even as he was speaking to Sam. There was something there. A warning.

Dean stepped back to stand beside his brother. "Sam is right," he said softly. "The Cas I know would never say that. He would never even consider it. So who are you? Or more importantly, what are you?"

The angel didn't move. His face was cold, but his eyes were filled with relief. Suddenly, he gasped and closed his eyes in pain. Then he straitened up a little more, his eyes empty again.

"I am sorry, Dean," he said flatly and before anyone could react the door slammed shut and the curtains swept in front of the windows. The room was almost dark. Dean felt Sam's hand on his forearm, keeping him close. Castiel raised his hand and they were forced back against the wall, unable to move.

"Cas, no!" Dean was pushed back hard against the wall, the plaster cracking a little. "Cas, you can't do this!"

"I don't want to," said the angel in a strange voice. "But I can't fight it."

The door creaked open and someone stepped inside, hidden in the shadow.

"I see you have met my renegade angel," said an unfamiliar voice. "He's been a little disappointing, but what can you do. It's not like you can find yourself another one."

Castiel turned his head towards the newcomer, his eyes glistening faintly in the semi-darkness.

"Randall," he said quietly.

* * *

Sorry…

Let me know what you think!


	14. He doesn't think like you and me

And I am late yet again! Sorry to keep you hanging like that.

The illusive Randall, coming up.

Enjoy!

* * *

_He doesn't think like you and me._

"So you're the scumbag that's been chasing us?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "I thought you'd be taller."

Randall smiled from the shadows. "My Succubus told me you were like that," he said quietly. "I do not appreciate what you have done with her, you know. She was one of my favorites."

"Well, I couldn't stand the bitch."

Randall chuckled softly. "That's not what she said."

He moved forward and the light seeping in from between the curtains brushed his face. He looked like a completely ordinary man. One you would pass in the street and never spare a second glace. He looked younger than Dean head imagined. A smooth face with expressive eyes and his blond hair slicked back with too much hair gel.

An ordinary guy. Who had made Sam's life a living hell.

Randall tilted his head a little and studied his two prisoners. "Well well. Looks like I finally got my hands on the Winchester brothers." He stepped forward and ran his finger down Sam's face. "Such power," he muttered. "I can feel it, even when I am not touching you. Why do you bury it so deeply?"

Sam didn't answer. He turned his face away and closed his eyes in disgust.

Dean struggled against the angels' hold. Castiel was still standing in the middle of the room, his posture stiff and his face apologetic. He didn't lower his hand.

"Now that you have us, what the hell do you want with us?" Dean spat at the short man in front of him.

"I don't want you, Dean," said Randall coolly. "It's your brother that I want. I just need you to crack him open. To make him _tick_." He smiled a little. "Because I heard that Sammy here will do anything to save his brother. So if I take a few slices out of you…"

"If you touch him, I will rip your heart out," said Sam in a low voice.

"And he will," said Dean. "Believe me, he's not as friendly as he looks."

Randall chuckled softly. "Such fire, boys. Splendid." He turned towards Castiel. "Unlike my little angel of course."

"He's not yours," said Dean sharply.

Randall raised his eyebrows. "And why not? He does my bidding, that makes him mine. You know I came to this godforsaken country just to find him? When I heard I could get my hands on a pretty boy angel, I just couldn't resist. Too bad his mojo sucks. Little magic tricks. Nothing my demons can't do. He swears it's because he fell from heaven, but I think he is holding back. Fighting me." He turned back to Sam. "But fortunately, I found myself a better prey. You, Sammy. You are my trophy. My ultimate prize."

Sam struggled hopelessly against Castiel's hold. "You can't control me. I won't let you!"

"I know you won't. I know you will fight me until the bitter end. But that is where big brother Dean comes in. If you want something from a Winchester, add his family into the mix. Always works."

Dean cursed loudly. "Cas, don't do this! Let us go man, you can fight him."

"He tries," said Randall coldly. "But he fails. Always does. I heard the angels were powerful, but apparently, I caught the runt of the pack." He stepped over to Castiel, studying his face up close. "When I heard I could find one here in the USA, I caught the first flight out. A collectors piece, indeed." He smiled and stroked the angel's face. "He is unique. Even though he is all but useless."

Dean glared at him. "Are we finally done with the ranting? You sound like a spoiled little brat."

"No," said Sam. "you sound like Paris Hilton."

Randall didn't take his eyes of the angel. "Make them shut up."

Castiel closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he muttered. Then he turned his hand. Dean's teeth abruptly slammed together.

Randall smiled. "So you like them, Cas? That's cute." He turned away from the angel and looked at his two prisoners against the wall. "They warned me about you. The two hunters demons fear the most. Strong enough to face down Lucifer himself. When I came here, I decided to keep an eye on you." He walked over to Dean, drawing a small knife. "You were easy to find, Dean. You were settled down, white picket fence and everything. So I gave you the perfect companion. One to watch your every move." He stroked Dean's face with the knife. "Another bonus, she kept the dynamic duo apart. Divide and conquer they say."

His knife twirling in his hand, he stepped over to Sam. "Darling Sammy on the other hand, was a little harder to follow. I had a demon shadow him for a while, but Sam found him pretty quickly. But since he was just hunting a few random spooks, I decided to leave him alone. Follow the trail of his phone and his credit cards, track his hunts. I figured that was enough." He softly ran the knife down Sam's neck. Sam wasn't fighting anymore. He was staring down at Randall, his eyes filled with a threat he couldn't speak.

Randall lowered the knife and placed on hand flat on Sam's chest. "That is, until you wandered into my hideout to free that perky little friend of yours. I could feel you. The moment you stepped inside, I could feel you. Such power, locked deep within. It was incredible. I figured you must be some kind of demon, because you felt like one." He lifted his hand and ripped Sam's shirt open, revealing the brand on his shoulder. "So I decided to brand you. With the mark on you, you were forced to do my bidding, or so I thought." His fingers traced the ugly brand on Sam's skin. "But I couldn't control you. You ran and I couldn't find you. But now I have."

Dean tried to pull away from the wall, but the angels' hold on him was ruthless. Castiel was visibly trembling, trying to fight Randall's hold over him. Randall barely spared them a glance. He was completely focused on Sam. Sam was still staring at him, but his expression had changed. It was no longer angry. It was desperate. "Now all I have to do, is figure out how to make all your power work. And how to harness it. The brand should work, I don't know why it doesn't, but I'll figure it out."

"Because he is human," said Castiel quietly.

"Excuse me?" said Randall.

"He is human," said the angel. "Your brand is not made to control a human being."

Sam's eyes flicked over to Castiel in a quick flash of gratitude.

Randall smirked. "All the better. In the past few years I have learned that humans are quite easily… impressed." He stepped back towards Dean. "Time to get this show on the road. Cas, let him go."

Dean dropped to the floor so hard it made his knees buckle. Before he had time to react, Randall had the knife at his throat. "Time to show baby brother how it's done." He raised the knife a little and placed it on Dean's cheek. The second the knife left his throat, Dean kicked at Randall's knees and yanked his body away. Randall stumbled, but he held his knife tightly.

Dean circled him slowly, trying to stay away from the sharp blade. Sam was still struggling on the wall, his yaw clamped shut. Dean gave him a reassuring smile and turned back to Randall. "You know you really like to hear yourself talk. You should get a tape recorder."

Randall lashed out with his knife. The short man was deceptively fast, and the knife caught the fabric of Dean's shirt. "Don't be overconfident, Dean. You are alone. I have an angel on my side. Right Cas?"

"No," said the angel in a strained voice.

Randall didn't take his eyes of Dean. "Don't be silly, angel boy. Of course you are on my side."

"No, I am not," said the angel quietly. "I never will be." And with obvious strain, he lowered his hand and turned away. Sam dropped down to the floor and was on Randall in an instant, wringing the knife from his hand. Randall reacted quickly and shoved his thumb into the brand on Sam's shoulder. Sam pulled away like he had been burnt. Randall quickly turned to Castiel and chanted a few words. Castiel flinched and his eyes glazed over again. At the exact same moment, Sam gasped in pain. He clutched his head with his hands and stumbled away.

Dean had to force himself to stay focused on what he was doing. All he wanted was to help his brother, but he knew he had no chance with Castiel partly under Randall's control.

Randall never took his eyes of Sam. "A part of you wants to obey me, right Sam? Then I'll just have to keep trying until it does." He looked away briefly. "Castiel, get the other one."

Castiel started moving forward, fighting himself every step of the way.

"Cas, please," said Dean sharply. "Fight him!"

Randall barely looked at what the angel was doing. He started chanting again, in a language that sounded like Celtic, but not quite. Sam sank to his knees, his eyes shut and blood trickling from his nose.

"Don't fight it, Sam. You will only make it harder on yourself. Just let it go."

"Never," hissed Sam through clenched teeth.

Only Castiel noticed what Dean was doing. There was gratitude in his eyes, even as he slammed Dean against the wall with his hands.

"I'm sorry Cas," muttered Dean. And he pushed his bloody hand onto the symbol he had just drawn on the wall.

Castiel smiled faintly. In a blinding flash of light, he was yanked from the room, leaving silence in his wake. Randall stopped his chant and looked away from Sam.

"What the hell…"

Before he could finish his sentence, large hands wrapped around his neck. Sam was trembling all over, looking as pale as a ghost. But he was steady on his feet and had a smile on his face.

"Got you now, you son of a bitch."

* * *

Randall is fun to write! I had a blast with this. Also, did anyone spot the quote from 'the Phantom of the Opera'?

Tell me what you think!


	15. Cause he can't see what you and I can

Once again, thank you for all the wonderful reviews! You guys rock.

Enjoy!

* * *

'_Cause he can't see what you and I can see._

Dean wiped his bloody hand on his jeans. "You okay, Sam?" he said softly.

"Fine," muttered Sam. He had one arm tightly around Randall's chest and a hand clamped over his mouth. Randall was struggling faintly, but Sam was so much taller he didn't stand a chance.

"Hold on for a second," said Dean. "I'll get Bobby and find us some rope."

"And something to gag him with," said Sam. "The guy's a lousy singer."

Blood was still pouring freely from his nose and he was incredibly pale, but there was determination in his eyes. Dean quickly opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. There as no sign of Bobby. With all the noise he should have been pounding on the door already.

"Bobby!"

There was no answer. With an uneasy feeling, Dean started running through the hallway, towards the kitchen. No Bobby.

_Crap._

The house was completely silent. Far too silent. No noises anywhere. No wheels rolling over the floorboards, nothing.

_Double crap._

Dean quickly jogged back through the hallway. "Bobby!"

"Dean?"

Dean followed the soft voice into the library. Bobby was on the floor beside his overturned wheelchair. His cap had fallen of and there was blood in his hair.

"Bobby, what the hell?"

Dean knelt down on the floor beside him and helped him sit up. "I don't know, muttered Bobby. "Someone got me from behind."

"Randall," said Dean. "He had Cas under his control, probably took the angel express in here,"

"Crap," muttered Bobby. "Where the hell is he now?"

"Sam has him," Dean stood up and picked up the wheelchair. "Come one, we need to get some rope and give him a hand tying the bastard down." He pulled Bobby's arm over his shoulders and pulled him up of the floor, gently lowering him into his wheelchair.

"You both okay?" said Bobby.

"Fine," said Dean. He picked up a straight backed wooden chair. "Come on, we need to get back to Sam."

* * *

Sam tightened his grip around the small man. It was more to keep himself upright than to prevent him from escaping. His head was pounding in time with his heartbeat and the brand on his shoulder was burning nearly as bad and when it was first seared into his skin. Randall was squirming uncomfortably. Sam's arms were trembling with the effort it took to hold on. His arms felt ridiculously weak, but he tightened his grip even further.

The brand wasn't the only thing that burned. He could feel it, scorching the inside of his veins. Every drop of demon blood he had in his body was fighting to take control. To follow Randall's demands. It took an enormous amount of effort to keep it in check. But he knew where it would lead to if he let it go. If he gave in, he would only desire more. More blood, more power. And he couldn't go down that road again. But it took all his strength to fight it. It was almost like when he was in the panic room, getting the blood out of his system.

He shivered involuntarily. That was not something he liked to think about. He hunched over a little further, trying to find his balance.

Randall suddenly stilled under his hands. For a second, he didn't move at all. Then he jammed his shoulder up against Sam's and ground it into the brand.

Sam could almost feel his flesh sizzle again. The touch was agonising, even through layers of clothing. Randall was struggling violently against his grip. The pain was flaring through him, burning his flesh and flowing together with the burn of the blood in his veins.

He didn't even realise he had let go of Randall's face, until he heard a voice chanting in that strange language again.

Not Celtic. Old English, that was it. Very useful to know right now.

The room blurred around him, he could barely see anything. The blood was humming in his ears, the call getting stronger. Randall's words echoed through his head, pounding on the walls he had thrown up. He was on his knees on the threadbare carpet, hands clutching his head that were probably his own, but he really couldn't tell. Images were shooting through his head, too fast to make out.

"_Hæftincel_," hissed Randall in his ear. "You will be mine. You will serve me. _Céapcniht._ Me alone."

He flung out his arm instinctively and felt it connect with something. Even through the pain, he felt the satisfaction when Randall grunted close by.

A hand tightened against his shoulder, fingers digging into the brand. The fire flared up in his veins. The world spun lazily around him. He hit the floor and tasted blood.

Then all was silent.

* * *

Dean looped a length of rope over his shoulder and dragged the wooden chair behind him into the hallway. Bobby followed a little behind. They had taken too long already. Sam shouldn't be alone with that man.

Swearing under his breath, he walked back to the room. Through the open doorway, strange sounds drifted into the corridor.

Chanting.

_Crap._

He didn't know when he had let go of the chair, or when he had flung the coil of rope away, or when he had drawn his gun. From one moment to the other, he was simply running.

He skidded into the room, his gun raised and ready to fire.

What he saw made his breath catch in his chest.

Sam was sprawled on the floor, blood flowing from his nose and eyes, silent and unmoving. Randall pulled his head up by his hair, the small knife pressed against his throat.

"Drop the gun or Sam gets it," he said softly

"You won't kill him," said Dean sharply. "I know you won't."

Randall grinned. "If it's my life or his, I know what I'd choose. Now put the gun down, hotshot."

Dean hesitated. If he let go of his gun Randall would be in complete control of the situation, holding all the cards. If he held on to it, there was no way he'd be able to take the shot without endangering Sam. And Sam had a chance of ending up with his throat slit.

Either way, he was screwed.

Slowly, he lowered his gun and dropped it on the carpet.

"That's more like it," snarled Randall. "Now get in here."

His hands raised a little, he stepped into the room, carefully staying between Randall and the doorway.

Because Bobby was still in the hallway. And there was a loaded shotgun on the side table.

Randall tightened his hold on Sam's hair when Dean came closer.

"Stay there," he barked. "Don't move a muscle."

Sam was stirring faintly, his eyelids fluttering a little. He groaned and pulled against Randall's grasp, but Randall pulled his head a little higher. "You are not going anywhere, Sammy."

Sam shifted uncomfortably, twisting his arm out form under him. He closed his eyes again and whispered something. Randall leaned a little closer. "What was that?"

Sam opened his eyes again. "It's…. Sam," he muttered and drove his elbow hard into Randall's stomach.

Randall released him and doubled over. Sam's head fell back to the carpet and at that moment, the loud bang of a shotgun echoed through the room. Randall cried out in surprise and pain. He fell down and rolled away from Sam. Before he had even made the conscious decision to move, Dean was on top of him, twisting his arm behind his back. The little man cried out in pain, blood was streaming down his arm and soaking into his shirt around his shoulder.

"You will pay for what you've done to my brother, you ugly son of a bitch," whispered Dean in his ear.

Sam was struggling to push himself up to his knees, trembling like a leaf. Bobby wheeled his way into the room, the smoking shotgun in his lap and a coil of rope over his shoulder. He tossed the rope over to Dean and made his way to Sam, barely sparing Randall a second glance. Dean grabbed the rope and tied Randall's hands together as tightly and as quickly as he could. "You try anything, and Bobby fills you with buckshot, got it?" He shoved the small man roughly to the ground and all but ran to his brother.

Sam was on his knees on the floor, uselessly trying to wipe the blood from his face with trembling fingers. Bobby had a hand on his shoulder and he was speaking softly, but Sam didn't respond. Dean dropped to the floor beside him, gently pulling his hands away from his face. "Sam?"

Bobby squeezed Sam's shoulder briefly and moved towards Randall, his shotgun raised and his expression murderous.

"I'm okay," whispered Sam. "As long as he shuts up."

"Sure you are," muttered Dean. Sam was trembling under his hands and his skin was a lot colder than it should be. Definitely not okay. Dean threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him a little closer. Independence be damned. He looked around the room. Randall was staring up into the barrels of the shotgun. Bobby looked angry enough to shoot him on the spot. To Dean's surprise, the little man laughed. "Well done boys, well done. You got me. Now what?"

_Damn good question._

"I can think of a few things," muttered Sam in a hoarse voice.

"I'll bet you can, Sammy, but it's a little late for that," Randall smiled viciously. "Did you think I was singing just for you?"

Sam froze under Dean's hands. "They're coming," he muttered. "I can feel them."

* * *

Note: both Old English words mean 'slave'. Not a very nice thing to say.

Tell me what you think!


	16. Just open your eyes and realise

On with the story! The end is in sight, people. Probably two more chapters.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Just __open your eyes and realise…_

Dean let go of his brother and stood up. "What did you do?" he whispered. "Who's coming?"

"Better question would be 'what'," said Randall with a smile. "Every single thing I could get into dear Bobby's magic circle. Strap in, boys. It's gonna be a hell of a ride."

Footsteps around the house, shuffling, stumbling onto the porch. Dean swore loudly. Hr didn't have anything on him beside his gun. It was loaded with silver bullets, but they would be useless against most things. Sam pulled his old Taurus from the back of his jeans. "Take the door," he muttered to Bobby. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Bobby nodded briefly and turned his wheelchair towards the door. With his shotgun he had the most firepower of them all. It was still hopelessly inadequate. Dean made a mental catalogue of creatures that Randal could possibly have in store for them. He was pretty sure he had seen a werewolf when they drove up to the house.

_At least the silver won't be a total waste._

And then there were vampires, zombies and plenty of creatures that didn't let iron, salt or silver get in their way. And maybe a shapeshifter or two.

They were well and truly screwed.

The front door flew open. Heavy footsteps through the hallway. Dean had his gun ready, aimed at the closed door. Bobby cocked the shotgun, his face calm and focussed. Sam barely paid any attention to the door or the footsteps outside. He had his gun on Randall, his face livid. "Call them back, Randall," he said in a low voice. "Or I will shoot you, I swear."

"If you would, you'd have done so already," said Randall cheerfully. "And besides, shooting me will only make them mad. They like me."

"Somehow I doubt that," said Sam.

"I make them like me, so they do," said Randall coolly. "Kill me and they will rip you too pieces. Well… more pieces."

Heavy pounding on the door. Something heavy crashed into it.

"Can't they use the bloody door handle?" muttered Bobby. "Damn thing isn't even locked."

Dean saw his brother flinch from the corner of his eye. Sam struggled to keep his gun steady, his free hand rubbing the brand on his shoulder. Randall was laughing softly. "They might not be the brightest of my charges, but you can never outlast them all." He was wringing his bound hands behind his back. Sam gasped in pain, his gun trembling in his hand.

"Stop it," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Whatever you're doing, stop it or I'll kill you, I swear."

Randall laughed again and rubbed his hands together. Sam clutched his shoulder, his gun dropping to the ground harmlessly.

"Sam, it's his hands!" shouted Dean hoarsely.

At that moment, the door flew open and a dark man stepped inside, Randall's mark branded into his forehead. He grinned faintly, opening is mouth to speak. Before he could make a sound, the blast of Bobby's shotgun thundered through the room. The man's head exploded in a mist of red, staining the wall on the other side of the hallway. But more shapes pushed in from behind. The sound of gunshots filled the air. Dean pulled the trigger over and over again, until there was nothing more to fire. But they kept coming. It barely slowed them down. Swearing loudly, he jammed a new clip into his gun. Something flew forward, sharp teeth bared and it's eyes burning murderously.

_Werewolf_

In a reflex, Dean emptied his gun into the creatures' chest. The wolf howled and fell to the ground, it's fangs and nails disappearing without a trace. Dean lowered his now useless gun. There were no more bullets left. He was defenceless. The shotgun thundered again, but it was completely useless. Something leapt forward and grabbed Dean by the throat. Long fangs flashed in the dim light. He tried to push the vampire away, but it held on tight and they both crashed to the ground. But before the vampire could sink it's teeth into Dean's neck, Randall screamed hoarsely somewhere beside him.

The vampire froze and blinked a few times in confusion. Then it let go of Dean and stood up. Dean raised his head. Randall was on his knees on the ground, clutching his bleeding hand. Sam was beside him, a bloody knife in his hand. The room was completely silent. Nobody spoke, nobody moved. It felt like nobody even dared to breathe.

On the palm of Randall's hand, the familiar mark was clearly visible, tattooed in black ink. Sam had sliced clean across, deep enough to make the blood flow past Randall's wrist and drip to the old carpet.

"What did you do?" hissed the vampire.

For once, Randall didn't have an answer. The vampire stepped away from Dean. "What did you do?" he repeated. "You filthy little rat, what did you do to me?"

Dean crawled away from the furious creature.

"Stay away!" shouted Randall. "Stay away from me you filthy fang!"

The vampire grinned. "Do you really think I will listen to you? I've done enough of that already."

More human looking figures came walking into the room, stepping over their fallen companions towards Randall. Nobody paid the Winchesters or Bobby any attention.

"You've had your fun," said the vampire coldly. "But now this is over, we will have some fun with you."

A faint fluttering of wings rustled in Dean's ears. "I don't think we need to see this," whispered Castiel behind him. Just before the angels' fingers brushed his forehead, he heard the sickening squelch of fangs sinking into flesh, followed by a bloodcurdling scream.

Wings rushed around him. Dean blinked a few times. He found himself in a luxurious hotel room, with a huge double bed and marble absolutely everywhere.

"Nice," he muttered. "How did you conjure this up Cas?"

The angel looked around. "It was Randall's room. I do not think he will need it now."

"I shouldn't think so," said Bobby. "I just hate to think what those bastards will do to my house." He wheeled towards the window, leaving dirty marks on the white carpet. Sam was leaning against the wall beside the door, looking around with vague curiosity. His face was still stained with blood, but he didn't really seem to care.

"Sam?" said Dean softly. "You okay?"

Sam didn't look at him. Didn't seem to hear him. He was looking at the bed with his eyes out of focus. He straightened up a little and pushed away from the wall, taking a shaky step towards the bed. Then his knees buckled and he crashed to the floor.

"Sam!" Dean caught him before he could smash his head into the floor. "Talk to me man, what's wrong?"

Sam didn't answer. He was shivering all over, his teeth rattling together.

"Dean, what happened? Is he hurt?" said Bobby urgently.

"I don't know," muttered Dean. "What the hell did that bastard do to him?"

"Fighting Randall's control is… painful," said Castiel quietly. "And Sam fought him hard."

Dean looked up. "Cas, can you help me get him to the bed?"

The angel took Sam's arm and effortlessly pulled him up. Between the two of them, they dragged him over to the bed. While Dean was still trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with his brother, Bobby wheeled towards the bathroom. He stopped just in front of the doorway. "This place sucks," he muttered. "It has doorsteps. How's he doing, Dean?"

"He's too cold," said Dean without taking his eyes of Sam. "He's not hurt as far as I can see."

Castiel gently brushed Sam's hair away from his face. "Randall pushed him beyond human endurance," he said quietly. "I am surprised he held out this long."

Dean looked up. "Can you help him?"

The angel shook his head. "I can't heal people without the powers of heaven behind me." He hesitated. "Besides, I don't think he needs me. He needs his brother."

Dean looked back down at his brother again. Sam needed his brother. No matter how hard he tried to be strong and independent. And it went both ways.

_We keep each other human_.

He had never said anything that was more true. They kept each other alive, they kept each other grounded. And most importantly, they took care of each other. Like brothers should.

* * *

This was a bitch to write… I'm glad I got it out of the way, it was frustrating. Tell me what you think!


	17. The way it's always been

The story is finally drawing to an end! All the response has been amazing, I can't thank you enough for all the lovely reviews.

The last full chapter.

Enjoy!

* * *

_...the way it's always been._

Dean leaned back in his chair. He had survived many a bedside vigil in his life, but the chairs were rarely as comfortable as this one. That didn't change the fact that it sucked to sleep sitting up. For half a night and nearly the whole day, Sam had barely moved at all. He had stopped shivering, but his skin was still cold to the touch.

"Dean?" said Bobby softly on the other side of the room. "Cas and I are going to find Lucy and bring her back here."

Dean nodded without looking at him. He couldn't care less about Lucy. He needed Sam awake. Until that happened, he really didn't care about anything.

Bobby sighed and turned to Castiel. "Beam me up, Scotty."

Dean could almost hear Castiel's puzzled look. "My name is not Scotty and I do not… beam."

Bobby shook his head. "Let's just go, you idjit."

A faint fluttering of wings and Dean was alone. Except for Sam of course, but he wasn't exactly riveting company right now. Although Cas had assured him that Sam was going to be fine, Dean wasn't entirely convinced. Sam had been still for too long. And the most frustrating part was that he couldn't do anything. He really preferred Sam gushing blood, at least he was able to fix that. But this…

He put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. "Listen Sam," he said softly. "I know you probably blame yourself for everything. Because that is what you do right? But it wasn't your fault. None of it. It wasn't your fault that that yellow-eyed bastard fed you demon blood. It wasn't your fault that Randall was attracted to it. You fought him, harder than anyone would have. Hell, Cas wasn't even able to do what you did. You saved the day man. Now if you would just wake up so I can say this to your face."

Sam didn't stir. His breathing was slow and even. Dean stood up and gently touched his face. He was still colder than he should have been. Paler than he should have been. Dean pulled the thick blankets up a little higher. The reddish glow of the setting sun turned all the white marble in the room a strange shade of gold. It was warm and comfortable, but Dean really didn't care. He needed his brother awake and talking. And whether that was in the penthouse suite of the Hilton or the cheapest motel on the I-70, he really didn't care.

He walked over to the window and closed the heavy curtains. In the dim light, the room seemed even more quiet. He moved back to the bed and sat back down in his chair. This was going to be a long night.

The light of the sun slowly died away, leaving the room in total darkness. Dean didn't turn on the light. He just say there in the dark, listening to the soft breathing of his brother. Waiting for the sheets to rustle. For Sam to ask him why the hell he was sitting in the dark like that.

The hours ticked away. The room stayed silent. Dean leaned back in the chair. His thoughts wondered back to everything that happened in Bobby's house. Randall was probably ripped to pieces. A lot of pieces. No more than what was coming to him. Salting and burning him would be a bitch though. Bobby's place would probably be a bloody mess. They could only hope it wasn't vampire headquarters by now.

Dean closed his eyes. He would never forget the image of Sam, bleeding from his nose and his eyes with Randall's knife at his throat. He had washed away all the blood, but in his mind it was still there. Sticking to his brother's skin, clinging to his eyelashes, staining the collar of his shirt.

With trembling fingers, Dean leaned forward and switched on the little lamp beside the bed. Just to see Sam's face. Pale but clean. His eyes closed and his face relaxed. Probably more relaxed than he had been in months, maybe even years.

"I don't know how I could have let that demon blind me like that," whispered Dean. "But I know one thing for sure. I am not abandoning you again. Ever."

A faint fluttering of wings startled him. Castiel appeared in the middle of the room, practically carrying a battered looking Lucy. The old bruises on her face had turned green and yellow and they were nearly covered by new ones. Her eye was swollen shut and there were streaks of dried blood on the side of her head. She pushed away from Castiel and looked at him like he was from outer space.

"What are you, you son of a bitch?" she muttered under her breath. Bobby wheeled across the room towards her. "Calm down girl, he is one of the good guys. Now sit and let me patch you up."

With surprisingly little resistance, she sank down in one of the luxurious armchairs. Her eyes wondered around the room and came to rest on Sam. "What's wrong with him?" she asked quietly.

"He'll be fine," muttered Dean. He had to be.

She nodded vaguely, apparently unable to concentrate on anything very long.

Bobby looked at her face for a second and turned to Castiel. "Could you get me… never mind. Fly me into the bathroom please."

Castiel raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because this bloody chair doesn't agree with doorsteps."

With a flutter of wings, they vanished. Less than a second later, voices came out of the bathroom.

Lucy looked vaguely at the place where they had disappeared. "Huh," she muttered. Then she turned her attention back to Dean. "Bobby tells me Randall is dead."

"He is," said Dean. "Mauled by his own vampires."

She smiled faintly. "That is a little…anticlimactic."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "How so?"

She made a vague gesture with her hands. "We have been chasing each other around the globe for nearly a decade. When Randall got his hands on me I thought I was dead. And then a few days later, Bobby and the dude with the coat show up and it is all over. And I didn't do a bloody thing."

He nodded thoughtfully. "That has to be frustrating."

She shrugged. "I'll get over it. Mind you, I wanted to gut him with my bare hands, but this…" she smiled. "This is poetic justice."

Dean looked at her. "The person I talked to in Bobby's kitchen, was that really you?"

"Yes," she said softly. "And sorry again for trying to blow your head off."

"Well, you can never be too careful," Dean turned his attention back to Sam. During the conversation, he hadn't stirred at all. "Sam did it," he muttered. "He broke the connection Randall had with his creatures."

Lucy raised her eyebrows. "How?"

"Randall branded them. Marked them with a symbol. He had the same symbol on the palm of his hand. When Sam cut through it, the connection broke."

Lucy started when Castiel and Bobby appeared out of thin air beside her. "Damn it Bobby! Don't do that." She looked up at Castiel. "How do you do that anyway?"

Dean smiled. "He's an angel."

Lucy opened her mouth and closed it again. "That explains it," she muttered. "My head hurts."

Bobby pushed her back in the chair and handed her a cold washcloth. "Put this on that eye. You hurt anywhere else?"

"I'm fine," she whispered.

Dean cleared his throat. "What are you gonna do now this is all over?"

Lucy smiled vaguely. "Honestly? I'm gonna sleep for a month. And then I'm gonna find myself a hunt in South Beach."

Dean grinned. "I like you."

"Likewise," muttered Lucy with a smile.

After a quick patch up, Lucy left to find out where Randall had left her motorcycle. Castiel and Bobby went back to Bobby's house to see what was left of it, leaving Dean alone with Sam again. Or just alone really. Sam was still out like a light. Tired as he was, Dean started pacing the room. With every passing hour, he became more agitated. It was taking too long.

Near midnight, he was back in his chair, staring into space. Too tired to do anything. Too nervous too sleep. A faint rustle of the sheets startled him. "Dean?" whispered a tiny voice beside him.

Dean leaned forward in his chair and smiled. "Enjoy your beauty sleep, bro?"

Sam rubbed his hands over his face. "What happened?" he said hoarsely.

Dean grabbed a glass of water that had been standing on the bedside table for hours and helped his brother sit up a little. "Here, drink something. What do you remember?"

Sam carefully took the glass from him, looking more than a little shaky. "Ah… Randall. He came for me, right?"

"He came for us," said Dean firmly. "But you showed him, man."

"I broke the connection," muttered Sam. "What happened after that?"

"His own vamps decided to use him as a snack," said Dean. He took the glass from Sam and eased him back onto the pillow. Sam closed his eyes again and for a moment, Dean thought he had fallen asleep. But he opened his eyes and turned his head towards Dean. "Now that this is all over, what are you gonna do?"

Dean smiled at him. "Well, my girl turned out to be a demon and I'm pretty sure my boss didn't appreciate me disappearing on him, so I think you're stuck with me."

Sam gave him a long look. "How can you say that?" he said softly. "After all the trouble I've caused. After everything, how can you still say that?"

Dean shook his head. "None of this was your fault Sam. I shouldn't have left you like that. You were vulnerable alone. I'm not making that mistake again."

Sam tiredly closed his eyes. "But the blood," he muttered. "It is still there. It's a magnet to bastards like Randall. Doesn't it scare the hell out of you? You said it yourself, I've changed…"

"Yes you have," said Dean softly. "And it is no wonder really. Being on the run, or your own for so long. Of course you have changed. But I can deal with that." He softly rubbed Sam's arm. "Just get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

Sam turned to his side. "You'd better be," he whispered.

* * *

Just the epilogue left! It will be up soon. Thanks for reading!


	18. A question of balance

This story started out with nothing more than the image of Sam on a motorcycle. Needless to say, it has gotten a little out of hand. Seventeen chapters and an epilogue and a stunning number of reviews. And I'm not sure I am done with it just yet. Maybe, just maybe, you will find a sequel here one day.

In the mean time, here is the epilogue. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing!

Enjoy!

* * *

Epilogue

_A question of balance_

And he thought of those he angered,  
For he was not a violent man,  
And he thought of those he hurt  
For he was not a cruel man  
And he thought of those he frightened  
For he was not an evil man,  
And he understood.  
He understood himself.

When Sam opened his eyes again, Dean was sound asleep in the chair beside the bed. He looked truly awful. The vampire bite in his neck was now covered by a white bandage, but he hadn't bothered to change out of his bloodstained shirt. There should have been plenty of time for that. Time was a little fuzzy in Sam's head, but he was pretty sure he had been asleep for a long time.

Dean had been worried. Very worried. If only Sam could figure out why.

Stiffly, he pushed himself up and reached for the glass of water on the bedside table.

"Sam," said a quiet voice beside him. Sam nearly jumped off the bed. "Cas," he said in an exasperated voice. "You scared me."

Castiel looked at him apologetically. "I seem to have that effect on people."

Sam smiled and sat back against the headboard. "What are you doing here, Cas?"

"I wanted to thank you," said the angel softly. "You broke Randall's hold over me. Being under his control and killing on his behalf, it was… unpleasant. So thank you."

Sam looked away from him. "Don't mention it," he said softly.

The angel sat down on the edge of the bed. "Something is bothering you."

"Yeah," whispered Sam. "I thought it was all over, after Lucifer. The powers, the… the blood. But it's not. It never will be." He stared down at his hands. "I am cursed. I put everyone in danger. Maybe I should just…" He didn't finish his sentence.

Castiel shifted on the bed. "Have you wondered why Randall couldn't control you?" he said softly.

"You said it was because I'm human," muttered Sam. "But he nearly did control me. It was a close call."

"Randall controlled the demonic blood inside you Sam," said the angel. "But the blood didn't control you. You fought it harder than anyone would have."

He paused for a second, but when Sam didn't say anything he continued. "You have to understand that it will always be a question of balance. The blood inside you is evil, there is no denying that, but you are a good man Sam. In any other person, it would have taken over a long time ago. As long as you remain who you are, it will never be stronger than you."

"It was stronger than me once," whispered Sam. He looked up at Castiel. "How can you be sure that will never happen again?"

Castiel looked over at Dean. "The balance was disrupted. And you know what caused that."

Sam nodded faintly. "Yes," he whispered. "I know." He looked at his sleeping brother. He knew better than anyone.

* * *

Dean killed the engine of the stolen car and looked at his brother. They had been holed up in Randall's hotel room for days while Sam recovered. Still, he was asleep more than he was awake. One night, Dean had woken up in his chair to find Castiel sitting on the bed beside Sam, his brother once again fast asleep. He had no idea what the angel had said to Sam, but it had definitely done some good. Sam was more cheerful than he had been in a long time, even though he still nodded of in the middle of a sentence sometimes.

Today was no exception. Sam was fast asleep in the passenger seat. Dean nudged him softly. "Sammy? We're here."

"Mmm?" Sam blinked a few times and looked out of the window. "Man, how fast did you drive?"

"You've been asleep for five hours, genius," said Dean with a smile. "Come on, let's see what's left of Bobby's house."

The house looked quiet. The old Chevelle was no longer jammed into the front porch and the door had been fixed. Dean raised his eyebrows. Something was different. The windows… were clean.

"Huh," muttered Sam beside him. "That's… weird."

"Definitely," said Dean. "Unless Bobby found the time to climb a ladder with a bucket…"

He was interrupted by a loud yell from inside the house. "You idjit, what the hell did you do?"

"I thought you wanted the place… clean," said Castiel in a bewildered voice.

"Yeah, but not this clean, you moron. Where are all the books?"

"On the shelves."

"Oh great, now I will never be able to find anything."

Sam chuckled softly. "Poor Cas."

Dean laughed. "Beware the wrath of Bobby Singer."

Together, they walked over to the house. "You know Sam," said Dean. "I think I'm going to take a leaf out of Lucy's book."

Sam looked up. "What's that?"

"As soon as we've saved Cas from Bobby's clutches, I'm going to get my car out of that container and get us a hunt in South Beach."

* * *

And that's all, people! Thank you again for all the awesome response to the story.

All the chapter titles are from songs by The Moody Blues. Specifically, 'And the tide rushes in', 'Melancholy man' and 'The balance'. The lyrics in the epilogue are also from 'The balance.' All these songs are from the album 'A question of balance', which gave the epilogue it's title.

Thank you for reading and talk to you next time!


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